


Reluctant the Vampire Slayer

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Series: Friends and Other Disasters [2]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Double Agents, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Fencing, Fights, Het and Slash, Implied Relationships, Past Relationship(s), Plot, Prophecy, Resurrection, Vampire Slayer(s), Watchers, Wolfram & Hart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4936132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The oldest slayer is the newest slayer is weighing her options.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

She'd never been a runner. Not before.

For Lilah, running (before) had been the jarring feel of her weight being jostled up and down against uncertain terrain, asphalt or concrete or waist-deep weeds or dirt packed tight so that just a fine spray of dust settled against her white cotton socks on a July day in the Central Valley, leaving her mussed and messy. When she'd had no choice but to run, Lilah had been good at it. But she'd always been better at ducking the situations that forced her to run.

It wasn't even that she disliked physical activity -- back in the day, she'd danced, she'd done jazzercise and aerobics and step and all the ridiculous trendy exercises, she'd worked the tennis courts -- hell, she'd even hustled pool for six months -- but running? Not her thing.

Making her newfound enjoyment of it all the weirder. How was it that she was enjoying the sensation of letting go of all her ambiguous, g(u)ilt-edged, complicated thoughts and feelings and schemes and running? Running so hard and so fast that when she stopped, Lilah found herself six or seven miles from where she started, everything fuzzy around the edges from the sweat in her eyes, her whole body pumping the mythical good chemicals and things were just -- simpler. Cleaner.

To say nothing of the chemical rush that came from slamming a stake into some random vamp's chest and feeling it turn to dust beneath her. It was almost enough to send her running right back to Wesley to show him just how very good it was. Then she'd remember that Wes was a patronizing bastard and she didn't want him. Not in an emotionally attached way, anyway. Not at all, in fact.

So Lilah went elsewhere to burn off the rush; usually clubs. Places with eager young useless things who never said no when she bought them three or four drinks and whispered not-so-sweet nothings in their ears. Sparkly dancing places that stank of sex and corruption and alcohol and potential. And inevitably, Lilah found herself surrounded by sexy, bright creatures begging to get her off.

The results never failed to be entertaining, if rarely completely satisfying. Lilah had to admit (privately) that she was too old and too content with having one extremely good lover to handle the meat markets again, no matter what her advantages. But it was better than nothing at all, even when the results were deeply mixed.

Running was a satisfying thing. Maybe the only wholly satisfying thing left in her life. Lilah, solitude, and the preternatural overcast calm of Los Angeles at six-fifteen in the morning. She ran, and nobody, not vamp nor banger nor demon nor human could alter the sensation.

Lilah, sky, motion. Almost haiku in its perfection.

"You mind a little company?" Gunn asked her on the seventeenth morning, intersecting her path at six-nineteen at an overpass near the cathedral by the 101 and Olvera Street.

"As long as we don't talk," she answered casually, slowing slightly to let him join her.

"Works for me," said Gunn.

She found out very quickly that Gunn had all the supernatural ability Lilah had picked up with the convenient resurrection, and then some. One of these days, she'd have to find out what exactly had happened to him in the white room, but Lilah was more interested in the effects than the cause.

One thing was for sure. Son of a bitch could **run.**

In fact he could keep running through damn near anything, find his way through miles of alleys, overpasses, underpasses and sidewalk free streets that would have left Lilah dizzy without a guide, and still manage to end up in a park not two blocks from the crappy motel where Lilah had spent the night with yet another nearly-anonymous clubkid, barely huffing and puffing where Lilah was drenched in sweat and could feel her heart trying to burst.

Better than sex with anyone not named Wesley.

Gunn fell onto the grass, practically laughing. Lilah checked her watch discreetly. Six-fifty-seven am. He must have stopped because he had to be at work by eight-thirty, because he could clearly go another ten miles, no sweat. Either way, it gave her time. She could check out of the motel, catch a taxi to somewhere else and sleep five or six hours before doing this all over again. Weighing the options, researching, killing, dancing, finding another warm body to fuck, and finally, another run to empty it all out of her head. Nobody to find her, nobody to follow her and try to change the routine.

"You coming back anytime soon?" he asked as she dropped to her knees, gasping and feeling her head practically vibrating from the work. "He's freaked. Thinks you're gonna get yourself killed."

"Wes has an overdeveloped guilt complex," she replied, heart pounding in her ears. "Do I look dead to you?"

"You didn't look dead when you were dead," Gunn pointed out with a shrug. "But I got it. You're all right. Right?"

Lilah rubbed her eyes, yawned, and tried to will her head to stop spinning. "I'm fine," she said. "Please don't tell him where I am. I hate ducking Wes."

A loud, half-amused snort came from the grass. "Then maybe you should come back and have it out however you two do that," Gunn said, sprawled out in the emerging sunshine. "Fuck, you two got **issues.** "

"Angel has more," Lilah countered, stretching her arms and shaking out her hands. When was the last time she'd had her nails done? Fuck, they were ragged. And she didn't really care.

"True enough," Gunn said with a curt nod, suddenly rolling up to a sitting position. "You okay with doing this again? It was kind of fun, outrunning a Slayer."

"As long as you don't tell him," she replied indifferently, still not quite able to stand up. If this ended up a regular thing, she was so going to end up winning the LA Marathon next year. "And you won't outrun me for long."

Gunn laughed. "Crazy bitch," he said almost fondly, springing to his feet and taking off without another word. Lilah watched him run until he was out of sight. Then she unceremoniously groaned in agony, fell face forward into the grass, and prayed not to throw up. Not that there was anything in her stomach -- she'd have to stop for an Egg McMuffin before clearing out of the motel.

And then she'd have to fight herself tooth and claw not to tell the taxi driver to take her straight to Wolfram and Hart. Because damn, she wanted to go back. Not to the job, either. To Wesley. Lilah always did even when she didn't; nasty side effect of having the big destined love, she supposed. But she wasn't any dewy-eyed idealistic naïf and before Lilah got to go back and have exciting and epic make-up sex that would drive Angel and all those other bastards nuts, she had to figure out where she now stood on the topics of Good and Evil, Slayerness, herself, and working for Angel.

And that? Not getting any easier.

 

CHAPTER TWO

Los Angeles wasn't like anywhere else, Vi decided as she and her crew made three right turns in a row and kept going, ignoring the absence of cars in the area. The Sunnydale people said LA was Hell, but Vi was thinking it was more like Wonderland. Maybe the LSD, raver kind of Wonderland, but still. It was endless, sprawling, the traffic was horrible and it took forty-five minutes to get anywhere ever, but for all of that...there was an aura, a sparkle, something Vi found intoxicating. She couldn't explain it quite yet, not even to herself, but she loved the city. Once everything got settled, and the girls were all found and safe, Vi was coming back to LA to make it her turf.

Of course, the Sunnydale folks weren't entirely wrong. LA was insane, weird, and wrong to the nth degree. Things happened here, the kind of things not even spaced-out television writers on a bender could anticipate. But that was part of the charm. Vi knew that if she wanted to thrive in LA, she'd have to stay on her toes and roll with the weird.

Now, for example. Vi and the girls had been out since eleven-thirty on a fairly uneventful patrol that was doubling as a lookout for any new girls, girls who hadn't disappeared yet. Faith and Robin had let her lead, which gave Vi a glow. She'd been running patrols since about Atascadero and it was like nothing in the world, like strawberry shakes and first kisses and a good solid kill. Tonight they'd taken out seven vamps -- and if Vi wasn't mistaken, it might be eight before they packed it in.

Because honestly, what else could she be at four-thirty in the morning in a dark alley? Mom-aged, dressed in a pair of ragged men's jeans with giant holes in the knees which were CLEARLY being held on by the black leather belt, a black tank top that showed off bra strap galore, and a pair of motorcycle boots. Tall woman, too; she was taller than even Vi, and the way she moved was too perfect. If she was a drunk (the only other plausible possibility), she was the soberest drunk anyone could ever imagine. The reflexes were too keen and Vi didn't buy it.

"Vamp or victim?" Inez muttered, stake already in hand. Inez was their newest member, twelve years old and bloodthirsty. They'd found her in Sacramento, where she'd discovered her new powers the night after her beloved older brother had been torn to pieces by a gang who'd owned some fang-sporting muscle. "Vi, tell me she's a vamp. I know I can take her."

"Or you could just ask me," the woman said, stopping and looking at the spot where the crew'd been hanging back and doing recon.

Everyone, including Vi, jumped; they knew better than to hide in a darkened alley. Faith would have kicked their asses for this, but it was late, they were all tired, and it was only one vampire.

"Shit," Inez said, eyes very wide as she looked up at Vi. "Sorry."

"Come on," she catcalled, smiling. "You know you want to know. Vamp or victim? Come out here and find out."

Even scared, Inez looked eager to attack. Her breathing was ragged and full of longing as she turned to Vi. "Let me go out there," she pleaded. "I can take her."

"No. You three are on backup," Vi said, shaking her head curtly. Reminding herself that four vampire slayers could take anything not carrying a machine gun, Vi took a deep breath and strode out into the alley where the woman was still waiting very calmly. Ignoring an unusual instinct to run, Vi moved as close as she dared and folded her arms across her chest. "So I'm here. What are you? I'm dying to find out."

"Well, if I were a vampire..." and before Vi could process the motion, the woman had both of Vi's arms twisted behind her back with one of her own. The other was firmly gripping Vi's throat. "You'd be fucking dead."

Damn it. Vi should have known better than to fold her arms. What was weird in particular was that the non-vamp should have been easy to knock down, but she wasn't. Maybe it was the surprise at being caught, and embarrassment for being vain, but Psycho Soccer Mom had some powerful clutches to try to escape, and Vi would be feeling a lot better if Faith were around and not just the girls, who looked panicked. Inez in particular was crying, probably because she assumed that Psycho Soccer Mom had a gun and would blow Vi's head off with any sudden moves.

Psycho Soccer Mom who was now tracing Vi's jaw with her finger.

"See, I'd go game face right about now," the woman said loudly and didactically, her mouth warm and very near Vi's earlobe. "Usually girls scream because they're scared, but also because they're turned on. Vampire attacks are very sexually confusing."

Her lips brushed against the spot beneath Vi's earlobe as if to prove her point. Vi shivered. Creepy, **mean** Psycho Soccer Mom. She'd almost prefer being threatened at gunpoint right now. There was no doubt in Vi's mind that she was going to get let go, but only after the humiliation was complete and the lady knew Vi was turned on.

"Stop it," Vi said, trying to find the anger to get away. "I don't know who or what you are, but I can kick your--"

"Please," said Psycho Soccer Mom, putting a finger on Vi's lips. "You're a Slayer. And you're wondering what I'm going to do next."

"Get your ass kicked?" someone asked abruptly.

Oh, thank God. Kind of. It was Faith. Vi let out the breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding and started to struggle harder.

"Always a possibility," Psycho Soccer Mom answered amiably.

"Jeez, Lilah," Faith said. "I heard you'd lost it, but this is just sad."

Vi's eyes opened, reminding her she hadn't even realized they'd been closed. Faith stood not five feet from them, holding a crossbow and looking just as freaked as Vi knew she herself had to look. That only scared Vi more. Faith never got visibly freaked, which suggested Vi was really in the clutches of someone really scary.

"Hey, Faith," the woman said, suddenly letting Vi go. Vi, rubbing her arms furtively, ran to where Faith was standing, willing her heart to slow down. "Didn't know you and the brat squad were in town."

"Well, now you do," Faith replied, getting closer. She was ready to pounce. Vi knew it from the way the other girl was holding her shoulders, no matter how casual she kept her vocal tone. "You're looking good. How long has it been since you picked me up at that club?"

Psycho Soccer Mom -- Lilah -- shrugged nonchalantly, also clearly getting ready for a brawl in the way she squared her shoulders and held her jaw.

"Four years now," she said with a hint of a smile. "God, you were a sweet thing back then. All rum and coke and cigarette smoke."

Faith laughed and moved a step or two closer. Her hand was still gripping the crossbow tight and Lilah apparently didn't mind, as that almost-smile was still on her face. There was the weirdest vibe between these two, and suddenly it hit Vi in the back of the head. Picking up. Clubs. Sweet. OH.

Vi wondered if Robin knew.

"All sorts of people are looking for you," said Faith casually, starting to circle. "You made a wicked impression at Cordy's funeral, I heard."

"Really didn't want to," Lilah replied, suddenly stopping and throwing her arms out flamboyantly. "Come ON, Faith. Take the shot. I know you want to. You **know** you want to prove it's not true and what better way than to sink your teeth into me?"

Lilah emphasized the statement by letting her arms fall to her sides before tapping her left breast, just over her heart, all while leering at Faith. And wow, if this wasn't the most sexually tense encounter Vi'd seen since Spike and Buffy in Sunnydale...

"Bitch, please," Faith said, unexpectedly putting the crossbow down. Vi, still ashamed of her idiotic bravado earlier, ran and retrieved it. "You want to scrap, then let's scrap and stop fucking around."

A shrug from Psycho Soccer Mom. "You'll kick my ass," she said lightly. "Remember: old, inexperienced, unstable. Your girl could have taken me if I hadn't psyched her out. Maybe that's what I wanted -- something young and sweet to take me down."

Faith was the one laughing now, the low-pitched crazy laugh that Vi knew was bad, bad, **bad** news. Her movements had gone too smooth, almost gliding, which was the way Faith always fought when she'd lost her grip temporarily. And, as Vi expected, Faith threw the first punch, aiming directly for Lilah's face. Faith, who'd lectured the girls to never aim for the face first. Aim for the guts, aim for the nuts, aim for the heart, aim for the eyes if you have to, but never go for the face first, because it never does a goddamn thing except piss the opponent off.

Lilah, who did have six or eight inches on Faith, ducked and kicked Faith square in the stomach with her heavy boot. Faith gasped and laughed harder. Her punch connected this time, slamming into the woman's jaw with a solid crunch.

"Come on, Big Sister," Faith called breathlessly, ducking the next blow and failing to connect with her next kick. "Let's see what you got, sweet thing."

Vi found herself holding her breath again. Lilah landed her next kick directly into Faith's chin, sending Faith's head flying back with a snap. Faith recovered, leapt forward with a low growl, and then the fight was on in earnest.

It was going to be ugly no matter who won.

* * *

Wolfram and Hart LA had lost its organizational zeal in the wake of losing its COO and discovering its CEO was morose with grief over the death of his closest friend. If the four horsemen rode into the lobby, joked Security on the sly, they'd probably have to take a number and wait, because Mr. Angel wasn't seeing people this month.

So when two teenaged girls and a semi-badass man with an earring walked in and demanded to see Angel immediately? They found their asses cooling their heels next to people who'd been waiting two or three days to see the man. The leader, a pretty girl with a bruised face and big dark circles under her eyes, started pacing up and down before going to Jones, who ran the waiting room, and demanding to see Pryce because by God, she was going to kill that useless girlfriend of his...

Pryce was in the waiting room in under two minutes.

Wesley apparently hadn't been sleeping so much. Faith could tell just from the stubble and the condition of his formerly white dress shirt. Her guess was he hadn't changed clothes in at least three days, either, and day four might not be out of the question.

Poor sad (and strangely hot) bastard. It didn't matter. Faith had a lot to say and less time to say it in. Out of courtesy, Faith waited until she, Robin, and Vi were in Wesley's posh office, but then everything came spilling out.

"Wes, what the hell is UP with that crazy bitch?" she asked him bluntly. "She pretty much made me kick her ass, and it wasn't easy, let me tell you. Evil Lawyer Bitch might not be a good Slayer...yet. But she fights dirty and doesn't care if she gets banged up. And the fuck's wrong with you?"

The memory of the final blow, of Faith breaking Lilah's arm and the surprised look on Lilah's face, the one that told Faith that Lilah hadn't been so sure she wanted to live until that moment, it was making Faith edgy. Especially with Wesley looking like a sad, broken ex-boyfriend who wanted his crazy girlfriend back.

"Hello, Faith," Wesley said woodenly, looking at her ragtag team as if they were all transparent. "I assume you're well enough, then?"

He was staring at the bruises with something between revulsion, guilt, and awe. Faith reminded herself he hadn't slept and this was Wes with his English reactions. Still kind of creepy, though, the way he was looking right through her.

"Yeah. She fucking nearly dislocated my jaw, though," Faith said. It probably would be a bad idea to mention the broken arm. "And where the hell is Angel? And why are you looking at me like that? What's wrong?"

"I've misplaced my lover, my sanity, and every last moment of free time," he replied. "Angel's a ridiculously bad CEO. I don't know why this place hasn't collapsed about our feet in the past five months. He can't run a business out of a paper sack."

Faith laughed. "And it doesn't look like Lilah's interested in coming home just yet," she said, sitting back in the chair. "This is her job, right? Making sure Angel doesn't end up a white-collar criminal?"

"Is she all right?" Wesley asked, sitting up straight. "I haven't spoken to her since the funeral. She won't see me."

Vi looked like she wanted to say a hell of a lot on the subject of Lilah's rightness, but Faith threw her a look and Vi closed her eyes and pretended not to be pissed.

"She's nuts, but you knew that," Faith said. "That's not why I'm here, Wes. Much as I'm rooting for you crazy kids to make it work. We got trouble with the new slayers."

Wesley grimaced. "Shouldn't Rupert be taking care of that?" he asked with a slightly acid undertone. "He is the one recreating a new and better Watchers' Council, after all."

"Giles is in England," Faith said. "He's trying to get the Watcher money out so we can stop scraping by on jack squat. Plus, I thought we were all on the same team. And anyone who's taking slayers sure as hell ain't on your side."

Nodding slightly, Wesley fired up his computer. "Who sent you to LA?" he asked mildly, trying to look more interested in the rest of the group.

"Willow," Vi volunteered. "We've been sweeping California trying to get the girls before whoever is taking them gets there first."

"Any luck?" Wesley asked, idly putting in the first of seven passwords for his system and looking the redhead over quietly.

"We got Inez out of Sacramento and Julie from Santa Maria," Vi said. "Out of fifteen leads Willow had us looking for."

Wesley nodded again, and tapped in three more passwords in succession. Robin, who had been strangely silent the whole time, was looking at Faith, and then at Wesley, and then back at Faith. Wesley realized that the man was probably Faith's new lover and that he was trying to decide what the bond between Faith and Wesley was.

That reminded him that if Lilah did come back soon, she was going to know, too. Wesley typed in the fifth password incorrectly, thinking of that particular reaction.

"Wes, you with us?" Faith asked shortly. He looked up at her, wide-eyed, and she looked down with a grimace.

"We're not sure what's exactly happening," Robin said unexpectedly, filling in the awkward silence. "They're not coerced, as far as we can tell. The families -- when they'll talk to us -- say the girls were all glad to go with the person who contacted them. Most of them think the girls are going to a special school."

"That is plausible," Wesley pointed out, trying to look at Robin directly and not being able to sustain it for longer than ten seconds. "For all we know, someone is trying to recruit the new slayers."

Robin and Faith nodded in unison. "Yeah, for evil," Vi said. The three of them turned to look at her with raised eyebrows and surprise. "What? Why else wouldn't the families talk to us about this special school?"

"Girl's got a point," Faith said. "So is Angel gonna talk to us or do I have to go up there and kick his ass?"

Wes smiled and stood up. "Let's find out," he said. "Shall we?"

 

CHAPTER THREE

Corporate Overlord Angel was giving Faith a serious wiggins. He looked like Angel, he brooded like Angel, but he didn't dress or talk like the Angel that Faith knew and loved so well. Plus, he had a secretary, which was just the world turned upside down, and his curtains were open at eleven-thirty in the morning.

So, so very wrong.

The conference table was shiny and expensive and also wrong. Faith wasn't used to having meetings somewhere comfortable, spacious, and sunny. Usually it was her, Robin, and the crew in whatever space they'd managed to scrape together, some people standing, others on the floor. Sitting on Angel's right in an ergonomic leather chair felt like she was at a tea party, not a strategy meeting.

Speaking of tea parties, who knew that Mouse, after fucking with both Wesley and Gunn's heads, would turn out to be crushing on girls hardcore? No doubt about it for Faith -- Fred wanted to be not here, and preferably somewhere with the lady scientist she'd dragged up from the bowels of Wolfram and Hart. Faith hadn't quite caught her name, but she was pretty sure it was Mona.

"I think it's time we found Lilah and found out what she's doing with her fellow Slayers," Fred was saying loudly. "Let's face it, it's her style. Recruiting special girls for evil and assassinations -- she's done it before and now that she's alive and contract-free, there's nothing holding her back."

Big shock that Fred didn't like Lilah. Reminded Faith of how she and Willow weren't best buds, either. Something about the popular girl with the breasts always upset the geeky ones, even when everyone loved the sweet geeky type better. Still, Fred was probably right. Lilah had seemed to be setting up a sales pitch with Vi and the others until Faith had shown up. The death wish was a bit off, but you never knew with the terminally evil.

"It's not her," Angel said. Everyone, including a miserable-looking Wes, turned and stared at Angel in shock. "Even if she could find a financial backer, the timing is off. Besides, from what Faith told me, it sounds more like a freak scene. And not even a very original one. Sounds like a Wesley with a side of Faith."

As he was saying this, Faith found herself fascinated by a sudden ray of sunshine that crossed Angel's face and landed on the shoulder of his black suit jacket. Necro-tempered glass. Sur-fucking-real. Even more surreal than Angel using the phrase freak scene. She shook herself back to attention just in time to hear Gunn finish his comment.

"Look, I didn't tell you cuz I promised I wouldn't," he said with a hint of a scowl in his voice. "If I thought she was not okay, I would have brought her ass back here. She's fine, so I didn't."

"Every morning?" Wes asked. "Well, I'm glad to see that my peace of mind means so much to the both of you."

Gunn gave Wes a flat glare that made the pit of Faith's stomach glurble a little. Wow, he'd gotten sexier. And scarier. Possibly taller, too. She wondered what he'd been putting in his Wheaties to make that happen.

"I'm not your relationship counselor," he said to Wes. "I told her you're freaked. She told me to fuck off. It's not my business what issues you two have, okay?"

Wes looked like he was about to launch into another pissy salvo, but Angel held up a hand and shook his head. "We don't have time for this," he said. "Wes, I need you to set up a project to find out who's taking the girls and why. I want to know by the end of today who's behind this."

"And this on top of keeping Wolfram and Hart running while you continue your private self-indulgent brooding?" Wes asked, standing up. Faith was stunned. Wes didn't seem like he was feeling particularly suicidal today, but there he was, jawing Angel. "I'm not capable of this, Angel. I can do one, I can do the other, but I can't do both. Moreover, running Wolfram and Hart is NOT in my job description, and I refuse to do any more work relating to it."

Angel's glower darkened the room's mood faster than curtains could have. "So you want me to start a job search today for a personal assistant to a vampire businessman? On top of everything else?" he asked without a hint of rage in his voice.

"Don't be daft," Wes said. "Go give Lilah her old job back so we can actually do work and not just damage control. Possibly before your state-of-the-art multi-tasking operation falls down about your ears and an underling has you killed."

Dead silence in the room. From the look of things, Gunn was with Wesley one hundred percent, Fred was going to strangle Wes first chance she got for making the suggestion, Lorne still hated Lilah but agreed with Wes, the two or three underlings at the table didn't see what the big deal was, and Angel?

Angel was stunned. His mouth was slightly open and he was staring at Wesley, barely able to do more than shake his head. This went on for three full minutes. Faith had to stop looking after the first ninety seconds and grin at Robin, who looked a little put out. That wasn't good. She'd just have to explain that the thing with Wes had been post-prison neediness and that besides, Wes? Head over heels in love with the evil lawyer bitch.

"I was actually looking forward to a Wolfram and Hart where my archenemy wasn't scheduling my life, actually," Angel finally said. Faith hoped very much that wasn't supposed to be a witty comeback. Angel was a good guy and smart, just not fast on his feet. "And now you want me to rehire her?"

"I suppose I could say something lame along the lines of keep your friends close and your enemies closer," Wesley replied. "But I'm considering something along the lines of--"

"Don't be a dumbass?" Lorne said helpfully. "Look, Angeltastic, it's not that we're particularly fond of tall, dark, and obnoxious -- but she's good at organization, which we're not so hot at. Besides, hating her raises morale. Sorry, Wes."

"It's okay," he said. "I imagine Buffy's taken far worse over her boyfriends, so I persevere. Besides, I completely refuse to do her job anymore, I imagine the rest of you agree, and so either Angel offers his old assistant her old job back and restores the status quo, or he tries to find a replacement, keeping in mind the last person he hired was the kleptomaniac accountant with the alcohol problem."

Faith barely managed to smother a snicker. Apparently, Robin felt the same way, as he winked at her when she looked away quickly to recover.

"Good call," Lorne said. "So, you gonna go help the girls out now?"

"I'm going to certainly try. I imagine Faith, Mr. Wood, and Vi all have valuable insights, and I'd like to interview the young woman -- Inez, right? -- who wasn't taken," Wes said, completely ignoring Angel. "I might not have a name by the end of the day, but we'll be somewhere."

"You're blackmailing me," Angel said, throwing his hands into the air. "I can't believe you're forcing me to hire Lilah."

"No one's forcing you to do anything, Angel," Wes said. "And it's only temporarily if things don't work out."

"Besides, it keeps her out of trouble with our rogue Slayer-snatcher in town," Gunn said. "Don't be stubborn, Angel."

"She's going to take me to the cleaners on the contract," Angel bitched. "You know she is."

Lorne laughed. "Pumpkin, if that's the worst thing you have to deal with today, we'll be lucky," he said.

Faith could agree with that.

* * *

"Is there some sort of RULE that says the evil and occasionally useful get every rule bent for them?" Fred asked. "Wait, that didn't make any sense. But you know what I mean, Min."

The two of them were standing in one of the elevators alone, waiting to get to the safe haven that was Science Division. Fred had been fuming ever since everyone had agreed that Lilah needed to be back ASAP, and Min had tried to be polite and listen to Fred's every impolite thought about Lilah, but they'd gotten repetitive after about two minutes. More than that, Min was less interested in that ongoing rivalry and more interested in what was going on between Fred and another woman at Wolfram and Hart, namely herself.

"Yes, I do," Min said dryly. "Much the way I did the first six times you bitched about this, Fred."

She hadn't meant to sound that harsh about it, but Min's patience was finite and limited and the Lilah thing was old the first fifty times Fred had expressed herself on the topic.

"Oh," Fred said, sounding deflated. "Sorry, Min. I just get so riled."

"I know," Min said, rubbing Fred's shoulder awkwardly. "You've said. But I just think it's not doing you any good to dwell on Lilah, because you get grouchy and grouchy Fred repeats herself. A lot."

Fred smiled ruefully. "What would I do without you to make me mind my manners?" she asked, the smile turning brilliant. Min's stomach quivered. "And to run the next stage of the morphogenic project. And to wax intellectual about margaritas."

If it had been anyone else, Min would have known it was a pass being made and that it was definitely the time to make for the discreet kissing before the elevator stopped. But this was Fred, and as Min was learning, sometimes Fred wasn't the best with her own emotional reactions.

"Thanks," Min said with a half-smile. "Fred...I...there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

"Yeah, Min?" Fred asked distractedly.

"Are you gonna ask me out on a date or not?" Min said, cursing her own bluntness. "Crap, that wasn't supposed to come out like that. I mean. It's just that -- well?"

Fred's eyes were wide and trembling. Of course. Of course she hadn't been thinking about it. She was straight, after all, right up until the woman after Min fucked her.

"I don't know," she finally said.

"You don't know?" Min asked, finding herself strangely angry. "We go out at least three times a week. On ambiguously friendly things. There's more-than-friends touching. I'm confused, Fred. And I'm scared that you're using me and my lesbian-type vibes to feel better about yourself."

"No!" Fred said, ignoring the fact the elevator had come to a stop. "Min, no. You're definitely my friend. I like you. I like doing friend things with you, and I -- I mean, this isn't the first time I've been called on flirting with a girl. I just don't have an answer yet."

The thing in Min's head that had gotten her angry in the first place didn't react terribly well to that comment. It wasn't hard. Either Fred was interested or she wasn't. And the way she was equivocating was classic Fred.

"When you get one," and Min and Fred were both surprised at the chill in Min's voice, "Give me a call. Unless I decide to take that other offer, of course."

She strode out of the elevator resolutely, only to be stopped by Fred pulling on her sleeve, a warning signal flashing in her brain.

"Min?" she asked nervously. "I hate to be your boss here, but what other offer?"

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

CHAPTER FOUR

Her arm hurt. Damn temporary death wish, Lilah thought with moderate annoyance as she contemplated just how reckless she'd been. What had been the point of her little game with Faith and the baby slayers? Besides taunting Faith into a blind rage, which hadn't sucked even when the ass-kicking had begun, there had been absolutely none.

Though Lilah owed Faith for a few things, including not being into reciprocation, so she couldn't quite feel sorry about the dislocated jaw she'd given her fellow Slayer.

The motels were getting downright nasty, too. She'd been forced into cheaper and cheaper places thanks to her tendency to use cash and keep her name off the books. Lilah had signed in at this motel as Laurel Cassidy, the previous motel as Evelyn Hayworth, and the one before as Delila Pryce in a fit of maudlin drunken idiocy. If she didn't get herself a job soon, she'd be out of money, out of time, and begging Angel to please, please give her a job. Knowing Angel, it'd be something fun like scrubbing the executive washroom.

At least the HBO and Showtime were free here, and after the _Sex and the City_ rerun, Lilah could flip over to a bad _Red Shoe Diaries_ and contemplate the sad descent of David Duchovny before her broken arm prevented her from getting off and sleeping in peace.

Oh, well. At least she had her life, didn't she? Much good it was doing--

There was a particular timbre to the sound of a cheap door splintering that Lilah knew all too well. It wasn't exactly a creak, it wasn't quite a shatter, but it had its own sound that always made her jump. That made her arm ache, even though she could tell by tomorrow she could go find another doctor and get the damn cast taken off. Yay for Slayer regenerative powers, after all.

"Hey, Angel," she said, not bothering to move from her sprawled position on the lumpy double bed. What was she going to do, pull on a pair of jeans to go with her tank top and black cotton panties? Especially for Angel. "How's tricks? How's Faith? Still breathing?"

"I see you've decided to wallow in self-pity," Angel replied, looking her up and down. "She broke your arm."

As if that wasn't patently obvious. Then again, it was Angel noticing.

"Too short to break my neck," Lilah said conversationally, holding up her half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey with her good arm. "Thirsty? I imagine all that tracking down and vandalism's hard work."

Angel shrugged diffidently. "It wasn't that hard. I just looked for somewhere suitably trashed and hey, there you were. What is it with you and your personal grooming going to hell when you're in a bad mood? Fred looked better when she was wearing a slave collar in Pylea than you do right now."

"Fuck you," Lilah said, because there honestly was nothing else to say. "What do you want, Angel? Did Wes finally convince you to try to get through to me in my debased and confused state? Or maybe there's some big evil going down and you have to beat my role in it out of my wicked, wicked self?"

Angel sat down in the sagging, stained chair and glanced over at the flickering, snowy TV screen with near-interest. "Hey, _Sex and the City_ ," he said mildly, dodging the question. "New?"

"Rerun," Lilah said. Not a surprise that he knew the show; Angel? Had a secret yen for girly culture. She knew he read Cosmo, too. "What's the deal, Angel?"

"Big evil," he said. "When isn't that the deal? But I know it's not you, because you're out showing the world -- and Wesley -- just how very much you do not care. I didn't realize how much you must hate the idea of being a Chosen One, Lilah."

She rubbed her eye fretfully, the whiskey bottle cool against her body. "The hell does that mean?" she asked irritably.

"I mean this isn't you, Lilah," Angel said, clearly trying to maintain his composure. "You don't take out your self-loathing on yourself. This time, it's like you're begging for someone to kill you all over again, and it doesn't make sense. So I'm guessing it's the idea that you've got a destiny...and a debt you can't repay...that has you attempting good old-fashioned self-abuse on a grand scale. Especially when you know you can come back to a posh job and a concerned boyfriend at any time."

Lilah raised an eyebrow. Posh job? Interesting.

"I can, can I?" she asked incredulously. "Didn't think you'd be so eager to have me back on board, boss."

He ignored that comment, too. "I have a contract. The standard for independents doing long-term temporary work for Wolfram and Hart LA," Angel said, pulling the document from his coat. Lilah's other eyebrow joined its mate. There was definite big evil afoot if Angel was actively negotiating with her as an independent.

A smile crossed Lilah's face, despite herself. Oh, how she was going to make a killing right now -- and on her terms. No supplication, no begging. She was a valuable commodity and Angel was acknowledging that, even though it was a mistake on his side.

"I want full contracted employee benefits. My security clearance on equal level with Wesley, Fred, and Lorne," said Lilah briskly, drawing herself up into a sitting position. "And none of that affects salary negotiations. Up front or you can find another fucking girl Friday to do your dirty work."

"Done," Angel said. "I'm here in good faith, Lilah."

"Had to make sure," she said, amazed at how cheerful wheeling and dealing made her. "Job title?"

"I don't know. You can fill it in," Angel said helplessly. Lilah ignored that. Angel was never good with job titles, which was part of the reason Human Resources had been under her purview. "I'm here to offer you seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year, renegotiable on a yearly contract basis."

Lilah's jaw dropped. "Why are you offering me that much money?" she asked, forgetting that she didn't care about Wolfram and Hart anymore, that she had no obligation to keep Angel from being taken to the cleaners by unscrupulous so-and-so's like herself. "Are you nuts?"

Angel shook his head and gave her one of his stolid caveman looks. "I owe you," he said.

"You owe me nothing. Except maybe rage and hate over what went down with Cordelia," Lilah replied. "Why are you making me this offer?"

"Because it's a good offer," Angel said. "You're very rarely wrong, did you know that? Historically, you've made the world a worse place just by breathing, but you're usually right, Lilah. Also, Wes refuses to do your former job. I don't like it, but it's better than the alternatives. You're worth that much a year plus benefits. And you know it."

"Of course I know it," Lilah said, a troubled look settling in her eyes. "The fact that **you** know it is freaking me out. What's the big evil, Angel?"

"Someone's recruiting or kidnapping slayers," he said. "And not just slayers. We have reason to believe a powerful, well-funded new underground organization is making its first play on the scene."

"And, what, you're worried for my safety?" Lilah asked disbelievingly, trying to incorporate that information quickly. A sly smile suddenly crossed her face as she got it. "No. Oh, no, you're not. You're worried that I'll take my shiny new abilities, my shiny old abilities, and screw you and your people HARD by taking the job over at this new evil organization. Wow. That hadn't even occurred to me yet, but it's not a bad idea, is it?"

Angel's expression soured slightly. "Lilah," he half-threatened.

"Give me the contract," she said, holding her hand out, the one she'd cut years ago to bring Connor back from Quortoth, much good that had done anyone. "You brought a pen, right?"

With a grunt, Angel handed Lilah both contract and fountain pen that Wesley had handed him on his way out. She fumblingly put both on the bedside table, took five minutes to flip through every last codification of her new contract, and with a cheerful hum, signed the document triumphantly.

"Can we go now? I already paid off the manager to take care of the mess," Angel said, waving his hand around Lilah's temporary living quarters. Lilah held her mouth disapprovingly as she carefully eased herself off the bed and walked toward the bathroom. "Where are you going?"

"Angel, I'm not wearing pants," Lilah said. "Are we really in such a rush that you won't let me pull on a pair of jeans and some shoes before we go?"

* * *

Fred's girlfriend was Min, not Mona, Faith kept repeating to herself. Min, not Mona; Min, not Mona. Though they weren't acting very girlfriend-y at the moment. Mina (MIN! Not Mona, not Mina, Min!) was holding herself stiffly, eyes narrowed as she refused to look at Fred. Wesley was busily questioning her about the offer she'd gotten from the rival organization.

"Did you get a name?"

"I told you no," Min said acerbically. "It was a well-dressed white guy about your age, blond hair, tan, nice suit. He hands me a card with a phone number and a date on it. Says that he's offering me the chance of a lifetime if I call by this date. I think he's a loony, even when he's giving me the details. What sort of weirdo doesn't use names? I don't know why we're interested in this, anyway."

"Because the number you've got, as well as the number the parents of our missing slayers gave us, were registered to the same party under the name John Doe," Wesley said patiently. Faith would have slapped little Miss Min by now, because damn, bitchy much? "Also, it fits the profile Inez gave us of her mysterious contact."

The door to the conference room open and Angel walked in, followed by Evil Miss Thing herself, who still looked fucked up with the cast and all on her arm. Wesley's expression didn't change as he looked from Lilah's broken arm to Faith, who had to nod briefly and confirm she had indeed done the breaking.

"Any leads?" Angel asked Wes.

"Min's been contacted by someone we think is connected," Wes said. "He fits the operations profile we've drawn up."

"Have you contacted anyone on the underground? Black markets, chaos types, investors?" Lilah asked almost hesitantly, sitting down near but not too near Wes and Min. "There should at least be a hum."

Interesting way to get back into the game. Faith was impressed at how together Lilah was despite everything. Wesley was doing his best impression of a stiff upper lip, but his eyes kind of gave him away. Lilah, on the other hand, was a rock. No emotions at all.

"We've been doing a good job of investigating the situation," Wes finally said. "Right now, we're coming up with options of how to make contact."

Faith shrugged and stood up. "I think we should cut the bullshit and call this guy on Min's card," she said, stretching. "Hell, Wes, I think you should make the call on my behalf."

"Me?" Wes asked, looking at Faith. "What are you thinking?"

They were too comfortable with each other not to give it away immediately. Lilah took about three seconds to look between the two of them, roll her eyes, and look over at Robin with something that appeared to be pity. Faith seriously wanted to snark -- after all, Wes wasn't the only one who'd gotten there with her -- but now wasn't the time to confirm to everyone that yes, both Lilah and Faith were just plain slutty and that Wes sidelined as the luckiest man on earth.

Cuz Lilah was evil and annoying and all, but there was no denying the skills.

"We make a good team. You call as my watcher, ask for a group meeting. Robin and...Min come along," Faith said, pacing back and forth and watching Angel sit down and think things out. "Angel we need here in case something goes wrong."

"Right," Wes agreed. "We wouldn't want to put all of our eggs in one basket, and too much muscle would raise eyebrows. Min and I would appear to be coming along for alternate opportunities not with Wolfram and Hart, and not physical threats."

Angel nodded. "It's all right," he said. "I'm fine with the set-up. I can't go anywhere in this city without getting identified. Everyone knows me. Angel, vampire with the soul."

"Well, I hate to be predictable," Lilah cut in confidently, "But Wes and Faith are fairly recognizable underground from their vigilante tracking down of Angelus. Anybody with half a brain will figure out Wes and Faith working together is a set up. And you still have no idea who these people are."

"We're working on it," Fred said curtly, glowering. She wasn't the only one. All eyes were on the bad one, who pushed back a few strands of unkempt hair and looked back guilelessly.

"These people are covering their tracks quite effectively," Wesley said gently. "I agree with you that there's a certain risk, but I think Faith's idea will draw out our quarry."

"And that's what he'll be expecting," Lilah countered. "You were too effective with Angelus, Wes. People know you're good."

"Yeah, effectively good at using Faith as bait," Wood said quietly. Faith's eyes widened and she looked over at Wes with an almost-smile.

"True enough," she said. "Li's right that we're not gonna be good as rogue. But we can play that Wes is out for information, and that he's willing to sell me to do it. Pimp him up, and we'll look like rubes."

Angel took up Faith's train of thought almost too easily. "Which is what he'll be expecting," he said. "But he won't know that we know that he's expecting us to be playing our own game, so we'll have the drop. It might not go well, but it'll get us further and maybe draw a couple of the girls out."

Lilah bit her lip, closed her eyes, and was clearly counting ten. Faith wasn't quite sure why. It wasn't a bad plan, and between her, Robin, and Wes, it would take a goddamn army to take 'em down.

"Okay, not that I'm disagreeing with the plan's intentions, and I'm assuming that you've come to a dead end on investigating," she said very slowly when she opened her eyes. "But rather than needlessly overcomplicate things, why not send in a believable turncoat, i.e. me? I have a reputation, everyone knows I hate you people, and I have nifty new Slayer powers that I should be dying to sell on the black market by now. I'm the sensible agent here."

More silence. Lilah wasn't fidgeting, but Faith didn't want to think about how much it had cost her to make an offer like that. If it was genuine, but just going on the soulful eyefucking that Lilah and Wes were doing, Faith had to believe she was being as genuine as she got.

"Not you," Angel finally said firmly.

"Why not?" Lilah asked, turning on him with a gleam in her eye. Faith was reminded that Lilah could probably go a few rounds with Angel now, and was probably looking forward to it. "Is it a trust issue?"

"No, Lilah," Angel said. "You signed a contract with me, and I know you keep to those. But you're injured, you're unstable, and you're an unknown factor."

The gleam turned into something positively feral. "Unknown factor?" she asked very crisply.

"There's never been a Slayer over the age of twenty-seven," Wes said, which turned Faith's head. Twenty-seven? It was still a ways away, but not THAT far away. "Without tests, we have no way of knowing how you work. To say nothing of the fact that this needs to be a group operation."

"Oh," Lilah said, standing up. "All right. I guess I'd better get cleaned up so I can support this group operation. Do call me if you need me to support any more operations, okay?"

She walked out of the room without further drama. Faith bit her lip.

"That could have been much worse, all things considered," Wesley said tensely. "Did you really need to break her arm?"

Faith paused. Thought about it. And yeah, it was her final answer. "Yeah, I really did," she said. "Come on, Wes. We got work to do."

 

CHAPTER FIVE

Min got quiet when she was angry. Fred had known this before; once, when Knox had meddled with one of her experiments on the morph project, she hadn't spoken to him for a week, until Knox was begging both Min and Fred to please, please let him take them out and spend hundreds of dollars on them, just talk to him!

It was deeply uncomfortable to be the one on the receiving end of a Min Suleri silent treatment, especially watching as her friend petulantly starting typing in the codes for another go-round of her latest project.

clickityCLACKCLACKsnicketyclickclicksnap(which was the distinctive sound of Min's thumb slamming into the space bar)CLACKCLACKCLACK.

"Thank you for agreeing to be involved with this," Fred said tentatively, looking over at the computer screen. "It means a lot to us, and to the girls. They're so worried..."

"Right," Min said briefly, going back to letting her fingers fly over the keyboard.

The unnatural silence continued for another full minute, punctuated by the angry fall of fingers on keyboards, which started to hammer into Fred's skull like a bag of sharp, splintery nails. Possibly machine gun bullets rattling in a rain of psychic violence.

"This is really getting ridiculous," Fred said. "You and I need to talk about some things, and pouting like a two-year-old isn't gonna fix what's wrong. I'm sorry I didn't know what to say in the elevator."

Min stopped typing abruptly and turned her head, revealing the stormy expression on her face. Her brows were knitted, her dark eyes were narrowed, and she was deliberately making her lips thin.

"I hate being a bitch," she began as she looked at Fred, "but I think maybe we should consider why you didn't know what to say, not why I got mad, Fred."

"Why's that?" Fred asked, a little miffed. "This isn't all about me."

Again with the sideways look from Min. "It's not?" she asked. "Because on my end, it's pretty easy. I like you. In a non-platonic way. And I'm cool with it being platonic if that's what you really want."

"You are NOT!" Fred said, her mouth open. "You're completely upset because I don't know if I like you that way."

A small cry of almost-protest slipped out of Min's mouth before she closed her mouth, looked down at the formica tabletop, and then up again.

"Okay, I'm a little to sometimes a lot upset," she admitted in a tiny voice. "But you give mixed signals!! One day I think you're about to jump me on the desk, the next you're looking like you wonder what it'd be like to be in the middle of a Wesley and Gunn sandwich. And I think, are you using me? And that sucks the most."

Fred blinked. "Using you?"

"Yeah," Min said. "I mean, I thought about this, Fred. About how you spent five years in an alternate universe having god-knows-what done to you. And that's the only reason why I keep pretending you don't know how you act. But that's not fair to me or you. I want to know what's going on in your head. Am I your shield against having to tell the boys in the lab to look elsewhere? Do you even KNOW if that's what you're doing?"

It started to come together in Fred's head, what Min was afraid of, and she wasn't sure Min was wrong. There was something a little nice about not worrying about the boys because she was always with Min, and if Min was feeling like a big shield against her friends -- oh, that wasn't exactly fair. Then again, it wasn't exactly fair of Min to think that close friendship meant more if it didn't.

"You've thought about it, haven't you?" Fred asked prissily. "Why don't you tell me?"

"Don't be a bitch," Min replied snarkily, bouncing up to her full height at the insult. "I don't know if that's what you're doing. I hope not. I hope you're just clueless and I'm stupid and lonely and this is a big stupid clusterfuck I could have avoided by keeping my mouth shut. But I'm not the only one, Fred! All of your friends think something's going on, too. So...I don't know. This is fucked. And I'm sorry I brought it up."

She sank back into her chair, avoiding looking at Fred. "I'm sorry, too," Fred said. "I guess I haven't thought. It didn't--I'm sorry."

"Be less sorry," Min said. "Be more with the thinking. And now, back to the daring and needlessly complex plan."

Fred snickered, despite the quaver in her stomach. "What, you think Snitty the Vampire Slaying Lawyer Bitch From Hell was right?" she asked.

"I think she had a point about her Judas impression," Min said with a shrug, typing with less clackity-click flair. "Also, I think it's bad form to agree with your barely legal one-night stand over the woman everyone knows you're in love with except for her. Even if that one-night stand is the superior strategist, which I'm not sure is true."

Min clearly spent way too much time thinking about who was sleeping with whom at Wolfram and Hart. Wes and Faith? No wonder Mr. Wood was being so quiet in the conference room. And no wonder Fred was having such a hard time figuring out if she was flirting with people or not, if she'd missed two Wes secret sexcapades in a row.

"Wes and Faith," Fred said. "So wrong. She tortured him, you know. Physically. Not in the happy fun kinky way -- if such a thing actually exists outside dirty movies."

Small, embarrassed laugh from Min. "Fred, don't you think Wes kinda likes the torture? See current girlfriend," she said. "Also. Yes. There is happy fun kink outside porn. I promise."

Fred squirmed. She was getting visuals. "How are the A/V rigs coming?" she asked. "We have to get those over to Wesley's apartment before showtime."

"We're almost there," Min said professionally before cracking a smile. "I swear, you're cute when you're kerflummoxed."

"Thanks," Fred said wryly. "Thanks a lot."

* * *

"Yo, Wes, what were you thinking?" Gunn asked, holding up one of Wesley's lumpy grey sweaters with a smirk. "Can't believe your girl didn't burn these when you weren't looking."

"I had the closets locked. Justine, remember?" Wes replied, trying to sound light-hearted. Though honestly, who could expect light-hearted when they were discussing his affair with a woman whom he'd beheaded? "Besides which, I find it insulting that you assume 'my girl' would want to dress me."

Gunn and Faith laughed. "Because no one would ever guess Lilah cared about fashion," said Gunn with a grin. "Yo, we're trying to make this normal."

Wes returned to his rather uneven wardrobe with a shrug. "I think it's a wasted effort," he said with a definite resignation in his voice. "There's nothing normal about myself and Lilah."

"Except all the screwing," Faith quipped. "I ain't trying to be crude or anything, Wes, but you know you got off on the very thought of having something that sexy on you like white on rice."

Vi looked up from a pile of socks where she'd been trying to keep out of the way. Wes rather liked the girl; she was passionate about her work without suffering from the need to self-aggrandize like Buffy had. A grin was twitching around the corners of her mouth, matched by the smirk on Faith's.

"Can you really blame me?" he finally appealed.

"Well, exceptin' the sketchy evil part, no, no I can't," Gunn replied as Faith dove back into the closet to avoid sharing her fit of giggles. "Do you own any clothes that fit the profile?"

"Probably not," Wes said, settling back on his bed. "I've never given much thought to being -- what was the phrase?"

"Pimped out like your name was Snoop Dog," Faith volunteered helpfully from inside the closet before squealing. "Oh. My. GOD!"

That could only mean one thing -- and sure enough, Faith emerged holding one of his old cream linen suits. Fortunately, Lilah had never seen them, or she might have actually died of shame that she dated someone who'd ever worn such a fashion travesty.

"Aw yeah," Gunn said as Vi stopped sorting socks to laugh along with the rest of the group. "I remember when English was sportin' his J. Peterman catalog look. With the right shirt, he'll be stylin' Eurotrash."

"Word," Faith said, trying not to laugh by biting down on her lip. "Damn, Wes. These are ugly, ugly clothes. But pimptastic if we put it with a black silk shirt and cool shoes."

Vi was still giggling. "That should impress our mystery guys," she said, ruffling her hair. "Do we know who they are? You kept talking about this Underground."

"Yeah, Wes, what's the Underground?" Faith asked. "I guess it's too much to hope it's a band."

Wesley took the suit from her and sighed. He really should have destroyed the damn thing before it was unearthed and paraded around like a ghost of past sins. Certainly this group had a few fashion errors they gladly forgot -- Faith in particular.

"The Underground is a colloquial term for the world we inhabit," he explained, feeling unusually prissy. "One where people know and interact with demons, magic, and the like. It's not organized by any means. But it is a space where one doesn't have to pretend there's no such thing as vampires or slayers. At the same time, many of those on the Underground can't make a living in the normal world, so they turn to traditional underworld stuff."

Gunn snorted. Wes agreed with him in theory. He had been a little heavy-handed in explaining to the girls, but there was a certain level of subtlety involved with working on the Underground that they weren't ready for. Most of the time, Wes wasn't ready, either -- especially since he'd been linked to Lilah, who had quite her own reputation with those types.

"In other words, it's the world of the creepy-crawlies, most of 'em are doing something illegal, and they'd be the first to be interested in an army of Slayers," Gunn said to Faith, who nodded. "But it's the best place to get info and you don't have to front."

"Got it the first time, Chuck," Faith said. "So we got Wes some pimp threads and we know what the Underground is. How about I call Robin and we get this show on the road, compadres?"

Vi stood up and flashed a smile at the room. "I'm all about it," she said. "Let's get the party started."

It was going to be a very, very long night.

 

CHAPTER SIX

Control Central was going to be a hell of a place to watch tonight's show. Some idiot had decided a regular security booth was a smart place to do all the A/V, and so there were too many people by half jammed into a small space. Lilah had commandeered a chair, and the other two had been claimed by Knox and a sour-faced Fred. Meanwhile, Angel kept pacing back and forth like the big broody champion he was, Gunn hovered, and Vi looked very thin and pale in the corner.

The part where they were all so close that they could smell each other's emotions was kind of a new one for Lilah, but at least it was entertaining. Much more entertaining than Angel's shiny new addiction to surveillance and cool equipment.

"We needed more back-up," Gunn growled, tapping his fingers against the door. "No reason not to be safe just in case it's a set-up we didn't plan for."

Lilah smiled disingenuously, her eyes wide and bright. "But you heard Faith," she said in a tone of false awe. "She said it's not a set-up in the way we're thinking, and that to have you added to the party would make things dicey. And everyone knows Faith's great at plan-making."

"Do you NEVER shut up?" Fred asked testily, drumming her fingers on the countertop and waiting for the A/V rigs to go live. Lilah wished fervently that she had someone -- anyone -- to share the joke with. Sometimes she regretted not being a little bit nicer to people, but then again, if she had to be nicer to these people? Not worth the effort. "We get that you don't like the plan."

"Are you saying that dissent should be silenced?" Lilah replied, eyes still round and voice lilting.

"I'm saying you're not amusing anyone," Fred said, eyes on the flickering screens. "Go register your dissent elsewhere if it's so important to you."

Lilah sat down quietly, not saying a word or even sighing in disbelief. She knew just how much Fred hated it when Lilah accepted something without even so much as a raised eyebrow to say just how much contempt Lilah had for the order. As she remembered it, Lindsey had hated it almost as much, though Lindsey knew the value of being able to stifle annoyance at Wolfram and Hart.

"We have a signal," Knox said. "Let me just tune it in -- there we go. Can you hear me, Min? This is base."

The screens suddenly went from colorful static to high-quality black and white video. The contrast was crap, but as Knox had pointed out, it was as good as if it were being seen with their own eyes in black and white. Min's startled voice was being garbled over the speakers.

"Say that again," Fred said. "Min?"

"I'm here," Dr. Suleri said with a hint of boredom in her voice. Or was that annoyance? Either way, sounded like Fred's new girl was less-than-impressed with the plan, too. Well, that made for three people who thought Faith's plan was a mistake. Lilah felt a little less depressed about her choice to rejoin Wolfram and Hart LA; maybe eventually people would listen to her again.

"Wesley's online," Knox said, throwing a glance Lilah-ward. "Have you reached the rendezvous point yet, sir?"

Static hissed at them for a good five seconds before Wes answered. "Not quite, Knox. Who's in there with you?" he asked in a low, curt voice. On the screens, Lilah could see him from Min's point of view -- they'd almost persuaded him to wear that hideous cream linen suit before she'd rather loudly intervened and announced that not even a pimp would be caught dead in that hideous outfit and luckily for them, she had a much, much better outfit for Wesley's cover.

Idiots, all of them. No sense of the Underground at all. If they'd just waited a day or two, she would have been able to pull off a much, much better plan. But Angel was adamant -- things had to be stopped now, now, now, so Lilah was already trying to think of ways to do a discreet damage control before she set down the new ground rules.

"Fred, Gunn, Miss Morgan, Mr. Angel, and Ms. Vi," Knox said, scanning the room quickly to make sure that was right. "That's all."

Wesley paused, slicked-back hair providing a nice contrast to his suit. If they did end up back together, Lilah was going to take him shopping for a newer and better wardrobe as soon as possible in Milan and Paris. They could afford it, Ilona at Wolfram and Hart Rome would be glad to see her, and if he objected on masculine pride grounds, she'd just fuck him until he was game. Everyone won. Especially her.

"Good," he said. "Damn wires. They're not working terribly well on my end. Are you getting A/V on your end?"

Angel, who'd been hovering around the edges of the room with his usual wary distrust of touchy high technology, was the one who answered. "We can practically smell you. Just not in color," he replied. Everyone in the room chuckled.

"Good to know that somebody's having fun," Wood said. "What's up with having the meeting near the docks?"

Faith shrugged. "Maybe it's a union racket. Teamsters don't like competition," she joked.

"Teamsters. So lazy and surly," Knox said in geek delight. Lilah snorted. Was there nothing he couldn't make a pop culture reference? Worse yet, when did she start getting the jokes? She was supposed to be one of those people too busy or too good for Fox 11's nightly dose of The Simpsons, not a secret addict.

On the plus side, still more stylish than Angel, and now with the added new ability of being able to kick his ass.

"In any case," Min said, still sounding disgusted with the whole lot of 'em, "I think our contact's due any minute so we should perhaps stop talking to you guys explicitly. Radio silence and all."

"Good plan," Angel agreed, looking around the room. Knox grimaced, turned off the intercom link, and went back to watching the screens. After a moment, everyone followed his example, because after all, snarking had been curtailed by Fred, dissent wasn't polite at this point in plan execution, and it wasn't like anyone was friends. God forbid.

"I'm really curious who's behind this," Lilah said after minute five of watching everyone on the other end stare at their feet in black and white. "The Beast and Jasmine did SERIOUS number on the Underground. Last I heard, most people were taking a breather, though I guess five months is a breather."

"New player, maybe?" Angel asked.

"Possibly," Lilah said, pulling a face. "It doesn't feel like a new player, though. You know what I mean?"

Angel nodded. So did Vi and Gunn, who were paying much more attention to them than Fred, Knox, and the screens. Lilah felt strangely awkward. It was the first time in a long time she wasn't quite sure where she fit in the universe and for all she knew, she could be friendly with the forces of good. If she wanted to.

"It's too quiet for a new player," Angel agreed.

"New player would be trying to make sure we knew he was in the game," Gunn said.

"Or she," Vi interrupted. "Players aren't just guys. And this is about Slayers, after all. Could be a group of people we didn't even know existed, like the Guardians."

"Point taken," Gunn replied. "No wonder Fred and Wes have been hitting dead end after dead end. If it's people we don't know..."

Lilah snorted. "You mean that group of Gaian-bias girl-power types who shadowed the Watchers? I knew about them. They didn't have any power. They watched over the damn axe," she said. Vi blinked. "What? It's called research. Do none of you have minions to do it for you and produce one-page summaries for easy access?"

"Why didn't you make a grab for it?" Angel asked, that possibility spinning the hamster wheel in his brain. "If you knew where it was, after all, you were--"

"Not the Slayer at the time. Never in any hurry to use a weapon that's Use in Case of Apocalypse Only," Lilah replied, leaning back in her chair. "And these new folks are sloppy if they're evil. One should never be late to an evil appointment."

Vi snorted. "Late is Good?"

"Evil is everything Good isn't. Good is usually big with feelings and small with plans and formalities. Evil? Tends to have plans. With weaknesses like the Death Star and foolish carpenters to share them, but still. Plans," Lilah explained. After an awkward pause where Gunn was trying hard not to snicker, she added pathetically, "Plans are nice. I believe in well-executed..."

"Guys!" Knox cried. Attention swiveled back to the screens.

"Oh," Vi whimpered. Four or five black-clad goons/underlings/stealth ninjas had dropped on Faith, and true to his word, Knox's cameras were recording every brutal blow. "That's not fair!"

Angel was already calling for backup that wasn't going to reach the docks in time, Fred was shouting something through the intercom, and Gunn was clearly looking for a weapon or some way to teleport and kick some ass. Why hadn't they sent him? Lilah had known it was going to be an ambush. Gunn had guessed as much. It wouldn't have been difficult to have a discreet group of security guys waiting for the inevitable drop...but she was in flux.

Which was stupid, terribly stupid (she watched as one of the stealth ninjas planted an elbow in Wesley's face and felt her stomach quiver) of her, because she'd known in her last life who she was and it had been better for everyone.

Wood's camera went offline, and Lilah could hear Faith cursing a blue streak, taking out two or three of the stealth ninjas. There were more of them now. Fifteen or twenty. More like thirty, and for some reason, watching them attack on a video screen and knowing that there was absolutely nothing she could do if one of them decided to blow Wesley's head off was making Lilah detached and vague and slower.

"Can't anyone please DO something?" she heard Fred snarl. Hah. Fred was just as afraid for Min as Vi was for Faith and so on and so forth. Bet that would end the fight between Fred and Minnie real quick, if the lovely Dr. Suleri managed to survive the brawl.

"Can you think of something for us to do?" Lilah heard herself ask, still looking at the screen with dazed bemusement. "We've got backup on the way. All we can do is wait."

Over the intercom, one of the fighters shouted in a girly young voice, "We're secure! Prisoners are secure, I repeat, prisoners are--"

"I can hear you perfectly well, Danielle," someone replied. Lilah jumped. No way, no way it could be...but it fit. It fit his profile, it fit his MO, and... "And I'm sure the nice people at Wolfram and Hart LA are listening with interest, aren't you?"

One of the black-clad...ah, fuck it, this was his mini-army of Slayers. The Slayer handed the man a flashlight, which he used to light up his face before walking to Wes, who'd been knocked unconscious, tilting the man's chin upward and smiling brightly toward the camera.

"Hey pretty," Percy Bynum said, clearly talking directly to Lilah. "How's my favorite ex?"

He smiled. Lilah's temper finally gave up the miniscule attempts at civility and turned sour.

"God DAMN it!" Lilah shrieked. Everyone in the room turned her way. "Well, don't just stare at me! Get backup! Get a shaman! Do something so that I can tear this son of a bitch to pieces with my bare hands!"

Everyone stared at Lilah, including the new player in the game. "My," he finally said, holding Wesley's chin and turning it from side to side. "Aren't WE in a temper, Lilah Jean? I haven't seen you in this bad a mood since my dogs ate your pashmina."

Lilah forced a smile as she turned to Knox. "Knox? Kill the intercom," she said, fluttering her eyelashes. "Now."

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

CHAPTER SEVEN

"I told you this was a set-up," Lilah raged as she started pacing back and forth angrily. "Fucking Percy. Next time, if I suggest a plan? We follow my plan. Not the little girl's plan, because **I** know what the fuck I'm doing with my law firm, unlike all of you. Fucking Percy Bynum. I should have known."

Meanwhile, the rest of the room was staring at Lilah as if she'd sprouted horns, the cowardly morons. Thick-skulled do-gooding idiots. Why on earth hadn't she told Angel to stick that contract up his ass and signed up with the other side?

Oh, that was right. The other side was Percy Bynum, and screw that.

"I need a secure line," she snapped. "NOW."

Vi, who had seen her fellow Slayer angrier and had a good head on her shoulders, recovered first. "Well?" she asked. "Someone do it."

Knox bounced up and ran like hell. Gunn snickered and Fred sighed as Lilah started glaring and muttering lurid curses in the general direction of the attractive, slick man grinning into the camera. He was very patrician, with blue eyes and a general cast of features that resembled Wesley not a little, except for the blond hair.

"Oh, Deliiiiiilah," he crooned, running two fingers over Wesley's face. "You're being very petty, sweetheart. I'm sorry the plan didn't go very well, but you had to have known..."

Lilah took a deep breath, finished counting to one hundred, and hit the intercom button. "Not my plan," she said. "And you know that."

"I do," Percy agreed with a charming smile. "I also think it's fascinating that resurrection's left you timid. How could you let the children blunder so? Are you really that vexed with your lovely boyfriend's fling with his Slayer? You were once more liberal with your ideas of fidelity."

He turned his gaze (and the camera's) to the struggling, cursing Faith, who had four Slayers trying to get a tranquilizer administered while others put a limp Dr. Suleri in a van. Her words were rendered somewhat fuzzy by the noise, but Angel could tell she was telling Percy where he could get off.

"Hey, I hate to ruin this guy's memories of you," Angel interjected, "but I don't. Get him to tell us what the HELL is up with him and get our people back, Lilah."

"Gee, Angel, I thought I'd share all my past flings first," Lilah replied, rolling her eyes. "I'm trying. Percy is like this. Where's my secure line?"

"Don't know. Don't care. Talk faster," Angel ordered.

Lilah sighed and hit the intercom button again. "Yes, Percy, I remember that once upon a time, when my taste in men was at an all-time low, I did in fact fuck you for a whole six months. Complete with operatic break-up in which you ruined my favorite pair of Jimmy Choos and I cut up your favorite Armani suit. Let's cut the games. What do you want?"

Percy pouted with sly good humor. "Is Angel getting hot under the collar because his precious people are under enemy control?" he asked with a leer, tilting Wes and the camera back to him. "You're usually much more entertaining, darling."

"See, this is why I had to quit fucking you. Pet names are for pets, Percy," Lilah snapped, glancing over at Fred. If she was amused, Lilah was going to eviscerate Percy later where nobody could see. "So you've got an army of Slayers. Not difficult, considering your rivals are a bunch of do-gooding monkeys with a mission. The overdone communication, however, suggests your army isn't your priority here, and I genuinely don't think you want to take over Wolfram and Hart, or even subvert it."

Percy shrugged and ran his tongue over his lower lip. "Why bother? Angel can run the place into the ground on his own. I only expend necessary effort," he said with a wink. "The theatrics are for you, my dear. After all, you are rather significant as players go."

With a yawn, Lilah tilted her head as if her ex-lover could see her expression of utter disdain. "This significant player is bored, Percy. If you want to go out for dinner, you could call my home next time. But if all you want is attention, I'm going to break the connection and--"

"Did you know that people can be signs and portents?" Percy interrupted. "I did some **fascinating** research while I was in New York avoiding the latest apocalypse that got you killed. Rather sad, that. I raised a glass of merlot to your memory."

"Thanks," Lilah said coolly.

"Anything for you," Percy replied, smiling urbanely. "In any case, I discovered that you've been at far too many important parties for it to be a coincidence. Also, I thought several things were, shall we say, **off** about your last pathetic year. Why, for example, would the big bad Beast mark you and not just snap that lovely neck of yours? How did you happen to be the one Slayer in a millennium to rid herself of her powers? Why would Angel let you live two minutes after producing that triple-cross that rid the world of Connor?"

"Connor?" Gunn asked. "Again with the mention of Connor. Who the hell is Connor?"

"If you think about it, Mr. Gunn, you'll remember. But if the spell worked properly, you'll promptly forget."

Fred's eyes widened in righteous disgust. "Oh my GOD," she gasped, looking toward Lilah with remembered hatred. "You...you took Angel's son! How could you?"

"Angelus fed off my dead body and Angel doesn't have a son," Lilah replied. "Percy, thirty seconds to the thrilling conclusion or I have my elite Wolfram and Hart sniper team eliminate you with extreme shock and awe, you useless foppish son of a bitch."

Percy chuckled, his hand still on Wesley's chin. Lilah and Angel shared a strong distaste at the idea of anyone touching Wesley who shouldn't, and Angel could tell from the way his expensive executive consultant moved her shoulders that the next time Percy was in range, she was going to use her Slayer abilities to hurt him a lot.

Angel was going to help, especially if anyone, including Lilah, suffered any damage. Say, a broken nail.

"As I was saying, signs and portents. The universe likes them. You're a portent. All these Powers that Be like to use you as cosmic highlighter. Even Angel isn't as controlled as you are by Fate, sweetness. The Powers use you to set off cataclysms. A plot device. A domino. A marble aimed just right. Fascinating, isn't it?"

"Not really," Lilah replied flatly, cutting the intercom. "Someone else want to talk to him? I'm going to go scream now."

She stood up and walked out of the room, which left Angel to scramble for the chair.

* * *

Min struggled up groggily, her jaw aching like hell. It was dark, she was being bounced around on metal, and the air was rather close and bad-smelling.

"Are you all right?" Mr. Pryce asked, holding up his bound hands to indicate why no one was trying to help her despite the jostling and bouncing of the van. He looked pretty bruised, and there was a certain desperation in his expression. "They worked you over too hard."

"Not that hard," Min said, wincing at the pain of speaking. "Where are we going? Where's Robin?"

"Probably asking ol' Percy if he has any STDs," Faith said, rattling her chains. "Jesus, Wes, have you ever contemplated the creepy of all this screwing around?"

Wesley threw an exasperated glance her way. "Forgive me if I didn't consider how my sex life would affect your boyfriend's," he said. "And please leave off my girlfriend, who you slept with long before I ever did. I imagine she's reeling from her sudden bout of research, anyway."

"Research?" Min asked, trying to focus. She was suddenly aware of the dangers of concussion, whiplash, rope burn, and a thousand other ailments that even working for Wolfram and Hart, hadn't seemed very likely woes. "About what?"

"About portents," Wesley said. "Which -- I can hardly believe Bynum, but unfortunately, events bear out his theory, and that will distress Lilah unbelievably, given her rather independent personality."

Min blinked. "A portent?" she asked. "Forgive me. I'm not up on the occult if it's not theoretical physics."

"All right," said Wesley. "It's rather difficult to explain, but in situations where supernatural powers cannot affect the agents of prophecy directly, they use vessels known as portents. They're usually secondary players in these events, unimportant enough to be overlooked. They set events into motion without even knowing they've done so. Lilah has done that at least once in the time I know her, and I suspect it's more like three or four times, which is deeply unusual and suggests that it wasn't the Powers that Be's intention for her to be a portent."

Faith snorted. "What's the one time? She give you vital information during sex?" she asked.

"Actually, it was her death, Faith," said Wesley. "There was no reason for Cordelia to have stabbed Lilah. In fact, that act, along with Lilah's possession of the codex, led directly to our destruction of the Beast and uncovering of Cordelia's possession. Furthermore, my despair at having so thoroughly failed someone who loved me brought up the idea of finding you, which was vital in this set of events."

Min nodded, groaning. "I think my jaw is not good," she mumbled. "But I get it. It's like having a human catalyst, and one that keeps working, unlike the usual, which is a one-use-only deal so as not to give away the game."

Faith made a low noise in her throat. "Hey, wait. I thought of something," she said. "What if this is just kind of a fucked up reverse destiny thing? I mean, we have no idea what the world would have looked like if she hadn't ditched the Slayer gig, do we? And that was like, a major shift but, you know, all that destiny had to go somewhere. Or is that crazy?"

Wesley paused. "If only we knew more about how destiny works," he said. "Or supernatural ability, which is why I suspect Bynum is talking to the son of a Slayer. What happens when you ally yourself with a portent of destiny? Can you change the timeline?"

"You'll have two days to figure that out for yourselves," Percy's smirking voice informed them. Min almost passed out from the sudden pain that came from turning to look at him as two Slayers threw a battered Robin into the back of the van. "Just remember before you call me a very bad man who should die horribly, I'm just as curious at what it means to attract destiny as the rest of you. And like Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, I'm not sure it's a force to be easily accepted."

He slammed the doors shut, and the echo of the slam segued into absolute silence as the four of them tried to ignore what that meant.

 

CHAPTER EIGHT

Long Beach. Of all the suburbs in all the sprawl of Los Angeles, Percy would pick Long Beach as the rendezvous point. Angel, the big lug, didn't seem to notice. He was probably too busy thinking he could make a good dinner of rat and medium-sized vermin. Lilah, on the other hand, could smell the reek of oil and dirty salt water and mechanical decay and it singed her nostrils. She wondered if one of the benefits of Slayerhood was Angel-level sniffing, and that was true, if she could trade it for super-speed or perhaps a shiny new Porsche.

At least Slayerhood didn't make it any harder to tune out droning, or she would have brained Angel fifteen minutes ago. He was busily reinventing the wheel -- and what was worse, he was theorizing off the information Lilah had fed him!

"He gives credence to your ex's theory," Angel was saying. They'd been talking about Connor, without using the boy's name, for fifteen minutes. Lilah had been trying to change the subject, but Angel wouldn't give it up. After all, nobody else could remember for longer than thirty seconds at a time that Connor had ever existed. "You were involved in so much of that. Intimately. It couldn't have happened without you, Lilah."

"That's not true, and stop calling him my ex," Lilah complained irrationally. "The Nyazian prophecies gave me the idea for bringing Darla back. Other people accomplished it. If Lindsey hadn't run off like a puss, he would have made the deals with Holtz. He would have double-crossed everyone and allowed Connor to be kidnapped."

Angel shrugged. "Possibly. But again, that's the point. The universe seems to like you to be its warning flag," he said.

"I think that's seriously disturbing, don't you?" Lilah asked, shifting anxiously. She was pumping so much adrenaline that she could bottle it and sell it to the Hong Kong black market, and it wasn't doing her any good.

"Cosmic facilitators shouldn't be nervous," Angel said, taking a drag off his cigarette and handing it to her companionably. Lilah, who'd quit back when she was eighteen, took it anyway and started puffing. She and Angel were so rarely civil to each other that she wasn't going to waste the opportunity. Besides, the nicotine always did calm her nerves.

"Maybe not," Lilah said, her attention shifting right along with Angel's. They'd both heard the noise of someone trying to sneak up on them. Damn Slayer senses. There was too much creep factor involved with being able to perk up in unison with the gloomy avenger. "Could someone PLEASE turn on the lights? The sneaking around is so passé."

Lights suddenly flooded the platform, revealing any number of containers and corners where people could conceal themselves, and one unmarked white van. It was from this mundane conveyance that Percy emerged, looking stylish if ridiculously overdressed in a designer suit and trench coat. He eyed the cigarette with prissy disdain, eyes raking up and down Lilah's less-than-designer outfit.

"Oh, darling," he said condescendingly. "I know you're working for the fashion-impaired, but that's **no** reason to let yourself go to the dogs, Lilah. I remember a time when you dressed to kill."

"And I remember a time when you could run your fingers through your hair," Lilah replied with a poisonous smile. "Oh, wait, no. No I don't. Where are our people, Percy?"

Angel almost decided to say something to display his insult at being ignored, but Lilah and Percy were so good at ignoring him that they completely missed his facial tic, and he gave up.

"I only brought the important ones," Percy said with a whimsical shrug. "Girls, display the hostages for Miss Morgan and Mr. Angel."

The van back doors flung open, and Wesley and Faith were pushed out and marched to a position next to Percy's, both wearing bruises, scrapes, blood, and cuffs. Four girls apiece took their place surrounding them, all wearing combat fatigues and carrying machine guns. It appeared they had a confirmation on the location of the missing Slayers. None of the guards were over sixteen, and all of them were staring at Angel like they were itching for a stake.

Poor, stupid kids. All of them so brainwashed about destiny and power and so ready, willing, and able to buy into their specialness. Lilah was suddenly glad not to be them, glad that she'd made the bad bargain with Wolfram and Hart so that she could call her soul her own. They were kids and they were soldiers. Even without her father's blood on her hands because of it, she wouldn't have accepted that burden.

"You didn't take very good care of them," Angel growled, flexing his muscles.

"They wouldn't stop resisting," Percy said with a diffident shrug. He wasn't looking at Angel. His eyes and all his attention were on Lilah, and he wasn't the only one. The girls kept looking and Lilah knew that he'd told them what she was. Who she was.

And they wanted to be her. Again with youth and stupidity and her gladness for age and skill.

"What do you want, Percy?" Lilah asked, throwing the cigarette on the ground and stubbing it out with the toe of her boot. "I'm still a little confused why you didn't just call me at work. It's not like it's hard to locate me at the firm."

"Ah, but you weren't AT the firm, were you?" Percy asked with a grin. Fair enough; Lilah had made herself extremely hard to get in contact with post-resurrection. "You were off having one of your temper tantrums. Does **he** know what a little girl you can be if you don't get your way? I remember the time you threw your shoes at my head because I brought home the wrong wine."

Wes looked non-nonplussed at the revelation. Probably because he was confident that he was the only person who'd ever destroyed a kitchen table fucking Lilah. Which was true, but Percy could talk about the time he'd ruined a washing machine and that would just make Wes jealous and this line of inquiry HAD to be stopped immediately.

"Also because you were cheating on me with a seventeen-year-old," Lilah replied, taking a step or two forward with her hands on her hips. "Either way, if this was all a scheme to get me to come back to Wolfram and Hart so we could talk, it's overwrought and really sad. And I'd like you to call off your army of little girls and let Wes -- and the rest, I suppose -- go before I pummel you."

Her spine was prickling. Percy was leering at her like she was a particularly frothy dessert, Wes's eyes were big with shock or anger or possibly hate, Faith was pouting, and Angel, whom Lilah wasn't looking at, was probably very annoyed that it wasn't all about him. This was so very much not her line of duty. She was not supposed to be negotiating. Heroes and assorted goody-goodies were supposed to do this, not her. Damn Slayer abilities. Maybe she could sell them on eBay to a Goth girl who thought they were cool.

"I'll do that," Percy said, hands out in the open. "Before I do, I want you to hear me out. I have an offer for you. I want you to work for me. To be my partner."

Lilah was waiting to be impressed. "So you did the quality violence and beat up my not-quite-boyfriend because you thought it would what? Turn me on? Soften my non-existent heart?" she asked, trying to look utterly bored. Hopefully the folded arms would cover up her twitching fingers.

"Lilah, you know you hate working for these people," Percy said with a patronizing smile. "Wolfram and Hart, Angel and Hart, all of them. I know you, dear. All of them view you as a pawn. At best, a competent manager who can never be trusted and deserves any violence heaped upon her. You're too good for that, and you know it."

It wasn't that he was wrong; it was more that he was a jackass with so much smarm oozing off him that it was a wonder he didn't choke on it. Lilah really wanted to punch Percy in the face and let him see just how much her superpowers changed the terrain. He had no IDEA what she wanted, none at all.

"And what's different about your offer, Percy?" Lilah asked lightly, idly glancing over at Wesley to make sure he was getting just how much better she was at negotiating with the Underground than he was. "Everyone wants my special talents, babe. Why is your offer better?"

Percy smiled and inclined his head. "Because not only will I make you my full and equal partner," he said loudly and almost-suavely, casting a smug glance over at Wes, "I want you to marry me."

Well, to quote Lilah's gran, the crazy old bitch, it never did rain but it poured. Possibly that was the Morton's salt box. Either way, Lilah was frozen in place for a full twenty seconds, trying to process that she'd just been offered wedded bliss and lots and lots of money and power to boot. Plus the fun of being Mrs. Percival Q. Bynum, which meant she'd get her name in W...

"Are you drunk, Percy?" Lilah finally asked with a laugh that sounded unfortunately shrill. Wes was fuming, which made this almost good in a way that wasn't. Territorial prick. "Marry you? What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking I trust you and that cements the deal," Percy coaxed. "Think of it. Full partnership in the Organization. We make decisions jointly, we share the profits equally, and together, we drop this weak and trivial world and its Hallmark card guardians to their knees. No secrets. No condescension. You and I get rich and powerful and have great sex while these third-raters fumble around like idiots and shake their fingers at you."

No doubt about it; Percy knew Lilah better than she'd ever imagined. Which was weird, because the entire reason it hadn't gotten more serious between them back in the day was because neither of them had had any interest in a serious or traditional relationship. No, there was something else going on beyond selfish self-interest. Percy needed Lilah enough to offer her the world.

"You're planning to get very rich off the destiny thing, aren't you?" asked Lilah, letting her arms drop to her sides as she advanced another three steps. "I do make an excellent public face for our organization. A healthy middle-aged Slayer. Someone the parents and the people can trust in offering these very special girls very special attention. Plus, with the sign and portent gig, everyone worth knowing will be following me around like puppies and your hidden psychic will make a killing."

Percy shrugged. Well, at least she'd hit on the hidden psychic; someone was giving Percy his forecast with stunning cleverness and that always said psychic to Lilah.

"Certainly," he said airily. "Does any of that bother you? You'll make a lovely Mrs. Bynum. We've always enjoyed each other's company. People will be much less likely to believe I'd touch the girls with you around. It's a win-win for you and for me, Lilah."

Angel was itching to drop Percy. She could hear him shifting, trying to find a route where he could rescue Wes and Faith from the machine-gun-wielding Slayers before kicking Percy's ass and leaving Lilah to rot. Lilah could see the point of that; in Angel's head, Lilah had all but run to Percy, thrown her arms around his neck, and said yes, yes she'd marry him and take over the world with him, forever and ever, amen. Not that Angel was on the wrong track. If Lilah couldn't find a catch, she'd be hard-pressed not to take an offer that was so clearly good for her and she bet he'd do the same in her shoes.

But there was a catch. With Percy, there was always a catch.

"How much a year?" she asked, moving another step closer. The girls were all torn; half of them had their guns on her, the other half on Wes and Faith. Cute little Faith, who was looking pissed that she was prisoner and a bad planner. Lilah took pleasure in that. It would teach Little Miss Faith not to mess with her ever again.

"Half of the profits," Percy said, sounding a little confused. "I said that."

"Not as your business partner -- and by the way, if that happens, I want full access to the founding documents before I sign a damn thing, and we'll possibly have to restart the enterprise just to be right," Lilah replied without missing a beat. "How much am I worth to you as Mrs. Bynum? And why me? I'm sure you could find a girl like Faith here to do that instead of me."

He grimaced. There it was. Something about the marriage part was important to Percy, something he didn't want to disclose to Lilah.

"Two million five annually," said Percy. "Eight million up front. All I'd ask for is full custody of any children the marriage produces."

Well, there was the catch. Kids. He wanted the kids. Possibly for vivisection. And it didn't make sense.

"Why?" she asked bluntly. "Robin Wood's a slayer kid. And my sister's got kids. I'm not seeing a point."

"Remember the portent bit," Percy said idly. Oh, his psychic. His hidden psychic had suggested he recruit her and get his hands on the kids, which suggested she'd never be spawning. "Also, I'd like to see what we'd produce."

The ways Lilah didn't could fill the phone book. She really wanted to look at Wesley, assure him that in no way did she buy into this line, but there was no way to do that without giving herself away to Percy and losing her advantage.

"I'm guessing sociopathic little monsters with paranormal abilities," she said dryly. "It's a very nice offer, Percy. One I'll give deep thought to while I'm under year's contract to Angel."

Percy hmmed. Not hummed, not heh-med, he made the hmm sound and looked at Lilah as though he were gravely disappointed in her naïve judgment. Which meant, for those not as in tune to the Bynum mental pathology as Lilah, that he had one last ace up his sleeve, though that made sense, because the money he was throwing at Lilah had to have a counterbalance. Something that would hook his prey.

Lilah wasn't sure she wanted that shoe to drop.

"If I were you, I might think about breaking contract, Lilah," Percy said. "I know it's not your style, but you've always valued your skin and if you want to see forty, I'd imagine that you'll want to take my offer."

 

CHAPTER NINE

Gunn recoiled from Percy's last line, gazing over his troops tensely. Vi looked at him curiously. "She's not going to go for it," said the redhead. "He's bluffing."

"I know he's bluffing," Gunn said, not at all sure that was the case. "But it's a dramatic moment. She's got to react somehow, and telling him to shove it when we're not in position? Not good. Fred, how we doing with liberating Min and Wood?"

The radio crackled to life. "We're almost done. Kennedy's almost talked down the last of the girls, and they'll be ready in five minutes."

"We don't have five minutes, Fred," Gunn said.

Fred sniffed. "I'm sorry. Min -- and Mr. Wood -- are both in terrible condition," she said. "Min, don't move your jaw."

"And Wes and Faith are gonna be dead if we don't get Slayers on the march, got me?" Gunn said. "Have them there in two."

Vi nodded along fiercely as the radio went silent. "This is just getting crazy," she said, shaking out her arms as she looked at her mission partner. "Though I can't tell you how glad I was to hear Miss Morgan call Mr. Giles immediately. I was going to call Willow, but that was a much, much better idea."

Gunn agreed, except for the strange change that had come over Lilah after the call and a sleepless night spent with Wesley's library. Woman had something new burning in her eyes. Anyone else, Gunn might call it hope or faith or purpose, and think it was a good thing. With Lilah, though, you never knew if her new purpose was dangerous or not. So he'd ignored it, gut burning like a hot coal, and he was still trying to ignore it, the way she was pacing back and forth in front of the Lucius Malfoy wannabe.

"She bugs you," Vi said.

"Lilah? She's got a lot riding on some unstable shoulders," Gunn said. "Hell, I always thought **Angel** was an all-or-nothing shot for a champion. Lilah makes him look steady."

Vi nodded. "So you get over the past and save her now," she said steadily. "Isn't that what happened with Faith? It's hard to do the right thing if nobody believes in you and thinks you're always two seconds from snapping. But Angel, he saved her because he could forget the past and focus on what she could be."

Gunn considered that, and the Slayer had a point. "Pretty smart, Vi," he complimented her, and she grinned. "I guess Evil Lawyer Bitch ain't so bad. She knows how to get her geek on, for all she pretends she's too good for that."

"The road to redemption is a long and messy one," said Vi wisely, before giggling. "Sorry. That's what Spike said to us one time when he was trashed. Then he cried. I don't think Lilah will cry."

Gunn had read a lot of comic books in his time, so he could imagine a lot, including how it was possible to kick ass in a leotard and cape, but Lilah crying? Shit, that was funny.

"We're in position," Fred said, breaking the silence. "What about Angel's team?"

Gunn looked down at Lilah, who had turned to Percy with a particularly dramatic pose. "Our girl's on," he said, grinning at Vi. "Man, it's kind of fun watching her go when it's not against us, Fred."

"I'll just take your word for that," Fred said.

* * *

"You and the dramatics, Perce," Lilah said loudly and airily. "No wonder I wasn't surprised to find out you were a drama nerd."

"It gives me a sense of the appropriate," said Percy, running a hand through his hair. "So what do you say? Are you interested?"

"I don't play ball when I don't know the rules," Lilah said, and Wesley noticed that Angel had stayed in position, despite the skirmishes. He wondered just where Gunn and Vi were, and how many troops Fred was herding into position. "So let's make this easy. Spill your guts or I have Angel spill them for you. Or, ooh. Even better."

"What's that?" Percy asked dryly.

Lilah took a step back and pulled out her gun. "I spill mine."

"Oh, who's the drama club alumna now?" Faith asked, apparently unable to resist a good one-liner.

"Faith? Do shut up," Wesley said, making Lilah smile. "Lilah? Don't shoot yourself."

Percy, wild-eyed, nodded. "Yes, honestly," he said. "I was being overdramatic."

Angel shook his head. "Don't lie to us, Percy," he said. "What's in your bag of tricks?"

"She's the last of the Slayers, that's what," Percy said, shaking his head. "If she dies, then I don't know what will happen to the rest. My seer saw it. She's the last. If she dies, they'll all die, and the demons will have us all."

Wesley, who quite expected Lilah to respond to that with a scathing one-liner about how intensely stupid Percy was being, put away the gun. "Okay, you've done your homework," she was saying. "Don't know if I agree with your interpretation, Mr. Bynum, but that's darn good research. Better than the research at Wolfram and Hart."

"Burn on you?" Faith asked.

"Very large burn on me," said Wesley ruefully. "Of course, I have no idea what Lilah's interpretation is, and so I find myself sharing Percy's concerns. Rather intensely."

"Yeah, and of course **that** has nothing to do with the part where you've got personal ties to Lilah," Faith said. "Just saying."

* * *

Lilah had all the cards; Slayers on their way to do **her** bidding, Percy begging her not to off herself to keep the universe in balance, and no Senior Partners holding the trump on her soul. The choice was entirely hers, and that was terror in her gut, the kind of terror she'd never felt even when she was running from Angelus and knew she was going to die, because everyone dies and she knew what came after.

Now there was no way of knowing anything. Even if Percy's asinine interpretation of the prophecies his family had gotten a hold of for him while he'd recovered from the terror of permanent midnight was better than hers, and she was paralyzed. Walking back and forth, saying things that had no meaning.

Better to be the cosmic marble than to be Angel. To give up volition and accept what came down, because now the choices were hers and Lilah found she didn't know what she truly wanted. It had never mattered before, and so she was free to methodically, delicately, and eternally plumb the line for contradictions and ambiguities.

"What do you say, Lilah? You can't stay at Wolfram and Hart," Percy was saying urgently, and he was far away and so close. "They won't stop until they're masters of the situation and that will make the universe unbalanced. They're trying to rig a game that cannot be rigged."

"All games can be rigged," said the old, glib Lilah while the new one paced in terror. What did she want? Wesley, she wanted Wesley, that was certain. And she wanted to live nicely. But that wasn't enough; nobody was going to leave her alone this time. If she withdrew from the fight, it would follow her even if she moved to Maine and became a spinster schoolteacher who spent a lot of time walking on the beach and staring at the sea.

This game, for example, was very much rigged, and she taps her wrist and it buzzes the watch on Gunn's wrist and he and Vi jump down from where they've been hiding, and four of the girls guarding Wes and Faith went after the two of them, running in formation. Percy stared at her, open-mouthed.

"I swept the perimeter. And my psychic didn't see this!" he protested. "How in hell did you manage this, Morgan?"

"Good luck figuring **that** mystery out," she said, still dazed at her own realization. Lilah Morgan finally had all the cards, but it wasn't her own body she'd wanted to set in motion when that moment came. This was not her dream, to stand in the middle of a fight and throw the first punch, a quick downward jab, at a girl who could have been her daughter.

Turn right, kick. Smell that not-quite-right **wrongness** that was Angel, pushing through the girls. Getting Wesley and Faith out while Lilah belted teenagers who wanted to be her. There was something deeply wrong about it, and after she knocked the first one down, she reached down and brought up a gun from her ankle holster.

"I'm not going to fight any more of you," she said, breath heaving in her chest. "Percy's telling you things that aren't true. They're all telling you things that aren't true."

"We have a gift," the littlest one said, fists up. "We're called to stop evil."

"You think the only way to do that is with your hands?" asked Lilah, having a terrifying flash of what might happen. They needed mothers, these masses of snot-nosed brats who woke up terrified because now they were freaks. And no matter how good Buffy was, or Faith, Percy was right. She was the one who could explain how to live with it without being freaks.

And how ironic was that? She'd never wanted to belong to anyone; all she'd ever wanted was to be safe from the dark things and rich enough to tell the whole world to go to Hell.

"Percy said you were going to help us," another one said.

"Percy talks big," Lilah said. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

She turned away and sat on the edge of the van. Wesley and Faith were free now, and Angel was having a good time showing off that he was still in prize-fighting shape. It didn't take long for Vi and Gunn to calm the kids down, and for Kennedy and Fred to arrive with the back-up. Soon all the soldiers were crying girls and the crisis averted.

Nothing like a good plan to make it all come together.

It was Faith, not Lilah, who finally had Percy pinned and was giving him a few hundred knuckle sandwiches as the man ineffectually tried to slap back. Lilah looked at Wesley, who grimaced. The two of them then pulled Faith off the beaten man firmly, giving Angel the go-ahead to restrain the son of a bitch.

"I'm not going to die!" Faith shouted at him. "You and your full of shit line of crap..."

"Eloquent," said Lilah dryly, smiling over Faith's head at Wesley. "He's wrong, anyway. It's not any individual Slayer who's doomed, Faith."

Faith stopped struggling. "No? Who is it, then?" she challenged the oldest and newest of the Slayers with an uplifted chin which had a nasty scrape on it.

"The Slayer line is doomed," Lilah said. "There aren't going to be any more of us, thanks to the spell Willow cast. That's why I'm the Last Slayer, see? Everyone else was called; I just missed the calling on a technicality."

Wesley looked taken aback. Faith, too. "Who says?" the dark-haired girl managed to ask at last.

"Giles and Andrew confirmed what I found in the books," Lilah replied. "Percy's seer saw it wrong, and the prophecy is rather doom-filled and sounds very much like if I die, so does everyone else. Which is a little much, even for my life. I think I prefer being the pebble that gets nudged around."

"I bet," Faith said, pulling her arm away from Wes. "Much easier to say the universe made you what you are instead of yourself."

Lilah shrugged. "Much easier to say that the universe gives a shit only at two or three small moments of my life and the rest is all me," she said. "I don't think I'm more important than Angel, Faith. Or even Buffy or Willow. I'm a low-level evil overlord with special powers."

"Maybe," said Faith. "Except that you're not really that low-level, you seem to be kind of waffling on the evil, et cetera. But if you'll excuse me, I think I wanna see how these kids worked over Robin and tell 'em not to do it again."

She stalked away, leaving Lilah rubbing her wrist uneasily and Wesley shifting back and forth with a grim expression on his face.

"I suspect this means we'll need to keep an eye on you," he said. "If you don't object."

Lilah tilted her head. "I signed the contracts, and I didn't break them for Percy's impassioned offer of world-saving," she pointed out. "I think that means I'm open to being kept -- for now."

The glance between them was awkward as hell, but there was most certainly some of the old heat there; enough to bring a stupid smile to Wesley face and a glitter to Lilah's eyes.

"We should go help the others," Wesley finally said.

"That we should," Lilah agreed. "To be continued, right?"

"Yes," he said. "To be continued."

 

EPILOGUE  
 _Seven Days Later_

It appeared that even in the land of morally ambiguous overlords, things got back to normal fast. Lilah was once again running Wolfram and Hart LA, tormenting Angel, and looking at Wesley with conflicted eyes. The Slayers had taken off without even a thank you, glowering all the way at Lilah and her refusal to play with them. Meanwhile, Fred and Min were back to an endless round of friendly flirting. Maybe flirting.

Which was, in a word, normal.

"So that movie? Sucked," Min complained as she and Fred walked out of the movie theater before blinking owlishly at the gold, rose, and pale blue of a Santa Monica sunset. "It absolutely savaged the comic book. And the comic book was so good! Damn movies."

Fred, who'd never read _League of Extraordinary Gentlemen_ but agreed with Min's assessment of the movie, nodded. "We haven't seen a good one since _28 Days Later_ ," she said.

"I heard that," Min replied vaguely, looking toward the Pier and the ocean. "So, it's getting kinda late and I'm hungry. Do you want to get dinner or...?"

Her voice trailed off as their last serious conversation hovered in the air like a big mood-killing beast. Daring rescue and passionate hug aside, Min and Fred were still in the land of awkward, population them. Hell, even Knox had noticed. He was depressed at the serious lack of Fred and Min chit-chat and social bonding, he'd mentioned to Min at E-Bar Tuesday. Min had smacked him on the arm and ordered another margarita, wishing that she'd never heard of the term inter-office romance.

"Yeah, I do," Fred said. "Min, I..."

"Are you busy?" Min asked, looking down at the dirty sidewalk. "That's fine. It was nice, going to the movies again, even if it was that craptacular, and I'm not gonna push..."

"I want this to be a date," Fred interrupted, the words rushing out in one breath of air. "A real date. Not an awkward first-date-like date. A good date. Can I make it a good date?"

Min blinked, cleared her throat, stared at Fred, and cleared her throat again. "You're serious," she said softly, feeling dazed.

"I'm serious," Fred replied. "Min?"

She reached out and grabbed Min's hand, marveling at how nice it felt to squeeze her fingertips. One of the things Fred always found when she was crushing on someone was that little touches made her happy. Holding hands. Those little shoulder squeezes you did to pep someone up. Pecks on the cheek. Arms around the waist. Private smiles.

Wesley could say all he wanted it wasn't about holding hands, but Fred liked contact and besides, it wasn't as if Wes was the rocket scientist of love. As everyone could see on a regular basis, he was the master of the enduring trainwreck of love, maybe, but that was entirely different. That didn't do it for Fred. This could.

"Min," Fred repeated. "Min, Min honey, Minnie, I'm serious."

There was something very very alarming about Min's lack of response to Fred. Shouldn't she be saying something? Yay or nay or maybe next week, Fred? But she was taking so long to look up from the sidewalk and Fred was sure, sure that she was going to be asked to take Min home.

"Wow," Min finally said, looking up with widened eyes. "I did everything wrong and I still got a date with you. This is...wow. Very cool."

The sheepish smile on Min's face was maybe the prettiest thing Fred had seen in a while. She kept biting her lip and finally pulled her hand out of Fred's grip to cover her face and laugh and laugh and laugh.

"Aren't you happy?" Fred finally asked, tittering nervously. Nobody had ever been this skittish about Fred asking them on a date before. Then again, Fred hadn't asked any girls out on dates before after sending mixed signals for a month and a half.

"Yeah, silly, I'm happy," Min said, hand over her nose and mouth with adorable aplomb. "I just thought I'd screwed us up forever and now you want to go on a real date. It's giddy-making. And I'm SUCH a girl. It's embarrassing. Knox would laugh his dorky ass off if he knew."

He probably would, but that didn't matter. "Do you want to go to Johnny Rocket's for dinner? I crave chocolate shake goodness," Fred said. "Then we could go back to my place and watch movies that don't suck."

Min's smile absolutely sparkled as she linked arms with Fred and put her head on Fred's shoulder. "Can I have a big order of fries?" she asked kittenishly. "And extra whipped cream on the shake?"

"Anything for you," Fred promised, liking the touching. She could get used to girl-touching. Min's hair smelled good and the way she was just idly stroking Fred's arm was producing all sorts of chemical reactions that suggested that there was physical attraction to go along with the emotional attachment.

It might work after all. And Fred wanted that. A lot.

* * *

The problem with these sessions, as Wes saw it, was that he was going to spend far too much time on his back.

"And THAT is how I kick your ass," Lilah said, placing the tip of her blunted sword against Wesley's chest as he wheezed on the floor of their training room. "Now I still think the more efficient way to do this is with a .33, but see? I can do it the stupid medieval way, too."

She smiled at him, her expression belying the icy, matter-of-fact tone of the previous statement. Wesley, still out of breath from where Lilah had kicked him in the stomach, looked up at her and nodded.

"Very good," he said. "Someday you may even have technique."

"Screw you," Lilah replied. "You said I had to train. You didn't say I had to get all finesse-y with it."

"No fear of that," Wes said carelessly. "Lilah, I'm joking."

Days like these, he wondered why she hadn't run off with Bynum and been done with him and his endless small cruelties. In comparison to what the man had offered her, Wesley was offering less than nothing. Not even emotional support, much less an answer to what could happen to her.

"You're not," she replied, tossing the sword aside. Wesley tried very hard not to shudder at the clatter. He hated the way she used weaponry. It was sloppy and tacky and he suspected she did it to protest being trained. "But that's okay. I knew you were an asshole when I took up with you, and hey, I'm still here. Rough patches and all."

If ever there had been an opportunity to get Lilah into a better mood, Wesley hadn't seen one recently. He smiled at her, a genuine smile that took her off-guard and only narrowed her eyes. They were going to have to work on trust.

"The course of true love never did run smooth," Wesley said, getting to his feet slowly. "I think, however, it might be worth it in this case."

Lilah's brain clearly scanned the comment for sarcasm before dubbing it clean and allowing Lilah two seconds to melt over the tenderness before snapping back into default cynicism.

"Sap," she accused. "That was way too easy. You're supposed to complain about my selfish, villainous nature and mourn my tendency toward shallow materialism, not tell me it's true love and worth fighting for."

Wesley laughed. Maybe this wouldn't be such a long battle, after all. And perhaps he'd watch himself for repetition the next time he tried to improve those thorny morals of hers.

"Oh, am I?" he asked, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her in closer. "Fine. You--" he kissed her rueful pout-- "Are the most selfish--" she kissed him on the chin-- "Aggravating--" a long, mutual snog-- "Contrary woman--"

"Mm," she purred into his ear. "Keep going, Watcher man. This Slayer thing? Has developed muscles like you've never seen."

He chuckled, attacking her jaw and neck with his mouth before responding to the blatant reference in her taunt, fingers trailing up and down her bared arms.

"That was a dreadfully Faith thing of you to say," Wes chided, putting one hand possessively on Lilah's hip and pulling her closer. "Next you'll be telling me you can ride me at a gallop until I pop like warm champagne."

"You're telling me we haven't done THAT already?" Lilah asked with a vicious grin, putting her head on his shoulder. "I'm telling you that my shoulders and back hurt. I'm too OLD to be fighting monsters and dueling with weaponry, especially not with my doubts about the efficacy of such an operation. I want a very long massage with ulterior motives."

The look in her eye said absolutely everything about those ulterior motives. Wesley reminded himself to call them both in sick for the next day, because there was no way they'd be in. If there was one way he knew how to assuage Lilah's bruised ego while enjoying himself entirely, it was by taking his time in the bedroom. And Wesley approved heartily of solutions where everyone went home happy.

"Oh," Wesley said demurely, coughing slightly. "My God, are we actually almost happy?"

"Shh!" Lilah replied, only half-joking. "If we are, Angel will immediately come through the door and announce Billy Rebel is back and is actually an interdimensional soul-sucking demon and we must cease and desist from this happiness thing immediately. Because Angel? The definition of killjoy."

"He is rather, isn't he?" Wesley asked, feeling his pulse speed up as he attempted to move them out of the training room. Lilah was doing the thing she always did with her fingers when she wanted to talk less and scream more. "Someone will see."

"Yeah, and that's their own damn fault for bothering my private training session with my Watcher," Lilah said, hooking an arm around his neck and kissing his jaw insistently. "Are you my Watcher? That would be many, many shades of wrong."

Wes took a moment to think about that. Being Lilah's Watcher would be the most incredibly wrong concept he'd ever considered. Worse, actually, than the time he'd considered asking if Lilah would dreadfully mind adding a third party, which he was trying to erase completely from his mind in case of a psychic building sweep.

"Well, I was sacked," Wesley said. "So technically, I'm nobody's Watcher."

"Well, that goes along with the part where I'm all rogue-like and refusing to play with the new Watchers or Percy's people. Add in Faith and Robin, and you've got a whole motif of roguishness. We could start a band," Lilah suggested idly, clearly far more interested in the possibilities of the training room as kinky sexual arena. "Or an orgy. Whichever."

"I have massage oil at home," Wesley pleaded. They really didn't need to have Wolfram and Hart filming them in the workplace. Not with the knowledge that Angel reviewed the especially interesting tapes. "And chocolate. And your favorite pair of handcuffs."

"I told Security that my training sessions didn't get filmed and they got hookers for Christmas," Lilah murmured into his ear. "No cameras."

"I'd still prefer my flat," Wesley said. "There's no good place for a massage here."

"Spoilsport," she said, relenting and letting them walk out of the training room and toward the elevator. "So. I suppose this means game on for us again."

He shifted uneasily. "It does at that," Wesley said. "Do you think this time around, it might be a little less fraught?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Lilah asked. "I don't know, Wes. This time around, I don't have a contract. And we have the serious trust issues. I keep wanting to hurt you for the lectures and you keep expecting me to sell you all to the devil for a laugh. And that's if we're lucky and the universe doesn't decide to rain fire and brimstone on our parade. Which, given that nifty little latent talent of mine? Not likely."

Wesley considered this. "Yet it beats the alternative," he pointed out, wrapping an arm around her as they walked into the elevator.

"Which is?"

"Brooding the way I seem to recall Angel and Buffy doing. Slayer romances are always so similar," he said with a grin. "On the plus side, you look much better when you're sad than Buffy ever has. I bet you cry beautifully. And we know how well I brood."

Lilah made an offended noise, and her eyes were about to pop out of her head. "Take! That! Back!" she gasped in horror. "I'm not going to cry over our doomed romance. That's against everything I stand for. Now I'm going to have to hurt you for suggesting I might cry into your arms for the love that can never be, for you are a...vampire's bookish assistant and I am an evil lawyer Slayer."

"I'm not Angel's assistant!" Wesley protested.

"More like his clone," Lilah replied relentlessly. "Did you take the course in How to be Angel? The relentless brooding, the hates the world but loves saving it attitude, the sexy tendency towards leather. And now you've even got the hot-yet-conflicted romance with a Slayer. Angel. Clone."

The part where he sputtered incoherently was the best. Lilah enjoyed it mostly because he couldn't even manage to order her to take it back. Of course, that just led to more laughter from her, because they were so Angel and Buffy, the horrifying return. Doomed, doomed, doomed, they were so very doomed. But at least, unlike Angel, Wesley could have sex.

"You are beyond all definitions of the word evil," Wesley finally told her when they'd both recovered from the laughing fits. "And I am NOT a eunuch. So I'm most certainly **not** Angel's clone, because I am going to do things to you that were recently illegal in Texas and Utah to prove it."

"In bed?" Lilah asked innocently as they walked out of the building, setting her head on his shoulder.

"Why ruin our repertoire?" Wesley replied, hand entwined in hers as she smiled at him. There was time enough to worry about the future, later. The present beckoned, and for once, Wesley felt like indulging. "We've got a lot of excess furniture to destroy first."

 

 


End file.
